DarqueDante/test2 · Datasets at Hugging Face

text stringlengths 0 74
ostrich feather over the landscape.

"A house on fire?" asked Bradstreet as the train steamed off again on
its way.

"Yes, sir!" said the station-master.

"When did it break out?"

"I hear that it was during the night, sir, but it has got worse, and
the whole place is in a blaze."

"Whose house is it?"

"Dr. Becher's."

"Tell me," broke in the engineer, "is Dr. Becher a German, very thin,
with a long, sharp nose?"

The station-master laughed heartily. "No, sir, Dr. Becher is an
Englishman, and there isn't a man in the parish who has a
better-lined waistcoat. But he has a gentleman staying with him, a
patient, as I understand, who is a foreigner, and he looks as if a
little good Berkshire beef would do him no harm."

The station-master had not finished his speech before we were all
hastening in the direction of the fire. The road topped a low hill,
and there was a great widespread whitewashed building in front of us,
spouting fire at every chink and window, while in the garden in front
three fire-engines were vainly striving to keep the flames under.

"That's it!" cried Hatherley, in intense excitement. "There is the
gravel-drive, and there are the rose-bushes where I lay. That second
window is the one that I jumped from."

"Well, at least," said Holmes, "you have had your revenge upon them.
There can be no question that it was your oil-lamp which, when it was
crushed in the press, set fire to the wooden walls, though no doubt
they were too excited in the chase after you to observe it at the
time. Now keep your eyes open in this crowd for your friends of last
night, though I very much fear that they are a good hundred miles off
by now."

And Holmes' fears came to be realised, for from that day to this no
word has ever been heard either of the beautiful woman, the sinister
German, or the morose Englishman. Early that morning a peasant had
met a cart containing several people and some very bulky boxes
driving rapidly in the direction of Reading, but there all traces of
the fugitives disappeared, and even Holmes' ingenuity failed ever to
discover the least clue as to their whereabouts.

The firemen had been much perturbed at the strange arrangements which
they had found within, and still more so by discovering a newly
severed human thumb upon a window-sill of the second floor. About
sunset, however, their efforts were at last successful, and they
subdued the flames, but not before the roof had fallen in, and the
whole place been reduced to such absolute ruin that, save some
twisted cylinders and iron piping, not a trace remained of the
machinery which had cost our unfortunate acquaintance so dearly.
Large masses of nickel and of tin were discovered stored in an
out-house, but no coins were to be found, which may have explained
the presence of those bulky boxes which have been already referred
to.

How our hydraulic engineer had been conveyed from the garden to the
spot where he recovered his senses might have remained forever a
mystery were it not for the soft mould, which told us a very plain
tale. He had evidently been carried down by two persons, one of whom
had remarkably small feet and the other unusually large ones. On the
whole, it was most probable that the silent Englishman, being less
bold or less murderous than his companion, had assisted the woman to
bear the unconscious man out of the way of danger.

"Well," said our engineer ruefully as we took our seats to return
once more to London, "it has been a pretty business for me! I have
lost my thumb and I have lost a fifty-guinea fee, and what have I
gained?"

"Experience," said Holmes, laughing. "Indirectly it may be of value,
you know; you have only to put it into words to gain the reputation
of being excellent company for the remainder of your existence."






THE ADVENTURE OF THE NOBLE BACHELOR

The Lord St. Simon marriage, and its curious termination, have long
ceased to be a subject of interest in those exalted circles in which
the unfortunate bridegroom moves. Fresh scandals have eclipsed it,
and their more piquant details have drawn the gossips away from this
four-year-old drama. As I have reason to believe, however, that the
full facts have never been revealed to the general public, and as my
friend Sherlock Holmes had a considerable share in clearing the
matter up, I feel that no memoir of him would be complete without
some little sketch of this remarkable episode.

It was a few weeks before my own marriage, during the days when I was

ostrich feather over the landscape.

"A house on fire?" asked Bradstreet as the train steamed off again on

its way.

"Yes, sir!" said the station-master.

"When did it break out?"

"I hear that it was during the night, sir, but it has got worse, and

the whole place is in a blaze."

"Whose house is it?"

"Dr. Becher's."

"Tell me," broke in the engineer, "is Dr. Becher a German, very thin,

with a long, sharp nose?"

The station-master laughed heartily. "No, sir, Dr. Becher is an

Englishman, and there isn't a man in the parish who has a

better-lined waistcoat. But he has a gentleman staying with him, a

patient, as I understand, who is a foreigner, and he looks as if a

little good Berkshire beef would do him no harm."

The station-master had not finished his speech before we were all

hastening in the direction of the fire. The road topped a low hill,

and there was a great widespread whitewashed building in front of us,

spouting fire at every chink and window, while in the garden in front

three fire-engines were vainly striving to keep the flames under.

"That's it!" cried Hatherley, in intense excitement. "There is the

gravel-drive, and there are the rose-bushes where I lay. That second

window is the one that I jumped from."

"Well, at least," said Holmes, "you have had your revenge upon them.

There can be no question that it was your oil-lamp which, when it was

crushed in the press, set fire to the wooden walls, though no doubt

they were too excited in the chase after you to observe it at the

time. Now keep your eyes open in this crowd for your friends of last

night, though I very much fear that they are a good hundred miles off

by now."

And Holmes' fears came to be realised, for from that day to this no

word has ever been heard either of the beautiful woman, the sinister

German, or the morose Englishman. Early that morning a peasant had

met a cart containing several people and some very bulky boxes

driving rapidly in the direction of Reading, but there all traces of

the fugitives disappeared, and even Holmes' ingenuity failed ever to

discover the least clue as to their whereabouts.

The firemen had been much perturbed at the strange arrangements which

they had found within, and still more so by discovering a newly

severed human thumb upon a window-sill of the second floor. About

sunset, however, their efforts were at last successful, and they

subdued the flames, but not before the roof had fallen in, and the

whole place been reduced to such absolute ruin that, save some

twisted cylinders and iron piping, not a trace remained of the

machinery which had cost our unfortunate acquaintance so dearly.

Large masses of nickel and of tin were discovered stored in an

out-house, but no coins were to be found, which may have explained

the presence of those bulky boxes which have been already referred

to.

How our hydraulic engineer had been conveyed from the garden to the

spot where he recovered his senses might have remained forever a

mystery were it not for the soft mould, which told us a very plain

tale. He had evidently been carried down by two persons, one of whom

had remarkably small feet and the other unusually large ones. On the

whole, it was most probable that the silent Englishman, being less

bold or less murderous than his companion, had assisted the woman to

bear the unconscious man out of the way of danger.

"Well," said our engineer ruefully as we took our seats to return

once more to London, "it has been a pretty business for me! I have

lost my thumb and I have lost a fifty-guinea fee, and what have I

gained?"

"Experience," said Holmes, laughing. "Indirectly it may be of value,

you know; you have only to put it into words to gain the reputation

of being excellent company for the remainder of your existence."

THE ADVENTURE OF THE NOBLE BACHELOR

The Lord St. Simon marriage, and its curious termination, have long

ceased to be a subject of interest in those exalted circles in which

the unfortunate bridegroom moves. Fresh scandals have eclipsed it,

and their more piquant details have drawn the gossips away from this

four-year-old drama. As I have reason to believe, however, that the

full facts have never been revealed to the general public, and as my

friend Sherlock Holmes had a considerable share in clearing the

matter up, I feel that no memoir of him would be complete without

some little sketch of this remarkable episode.

It was a few weeks before my own marriage, during the days when I was