DarqueDante/test2 · Datasets at Hugging Face

text stringlengths 0 74
still sharing rooms with Holmes in Baker Street, that he came home
from an afternoon stroll to find a letter on the table waiting for
him. I had remained indoors all day, for the weather had taken a
sudden turn to rain, with high autumnal winds, and the Jezail bullet
which I had brought back in one of my limbs as a relic of my Afghan
campaign throbbed with dull persistence. With my body in one
easy-chair and my legs upon another, I had surrounded myself with a
cloud of newspapers until at last, saturated with the news of the
day, I tossed them all aside and lay listless, watching the huge
crest and monogram upon the envelope upon the table and wondering
lazily who my friend's noble correspondent could be.

"Here is a very fashionable epistle," I remarked as he entered. "Your
morning letters, if I remember right, were from a fish-monger and a
tide-waiter."

"Yes, my correspondence has certainly the charm of variety," he
answered, smiling, "and the humbler are usually the more interesting.
This looks like one of those unwelcome social summonses which call
upon a man either to be bored or to lie."

He broke the seal and glanced over the contents.

"Oh, come, it may prove to be something of interest, after all."

"Not social, then?"

"No, distinctly professional."

"And from a noble client?"

"One of the highest in England."

"My dear fellow, I congratulate you."

"I assure you, Watson, without affectation, that the status of my
client is a matter of less moment to me than the interest of his
case. It is just possible, however, that that also may not be wanting
in this new investigation. You have been reading the papers
diligently of late, have you not?"

"It looks like it," said I ruefully, pointing to a huge bundle in the
corner. "I have had nothing else to do."

"It is fortunate, for you will perhaps be able to post me up. I read
nothing except the criminal news and the agony column. The latter is
always instructive. But if you have followed recent events so closely
you must have read about Lord St. Simon and his wedding?"

"Oh, yes, with the deepest interest."

"That is well. The letter which I hold in my hand is from Lord St.
Simon. I will read it to you, and in return you must turn over these
papers and let me have whatever bears upon the matter. This is what
he says:

"'My dear Mr. Sherlock Holmes:
"'Lord Backwater tells me that I may place implicit reliance upon
your judgment and discretion. I have determined, therefore, to call
upon you and to consult you in reference to the very painful event
which has occurred in connection with my wedding. Mr. Lestrade, of
Scotland Yard, is acting already in the matter, but he assures me
that he sees no objection to your co-operation, and that he even
thinks that it might be of some assistance. I will call at four
o'clock in the afternoon, and, should you have any other engagement
at that time, I hope that you will postpone it, as this matter is of
paramount importance.
"'Yours faithfully,
"'St. Simon.'

"It is dated from Grosvenor Mansions, written with a quill pen, and
the noble lord has had the misfortune to get a smear of ink upon the
outer side of his right little finger," remarked Holmes as he folded
up the epistle.

"He says four o'clock. It is three now. He will be here in an hour."

"Then I have just time, with your assistance, to get clear upon the
subject. Turn over those papers and arrange the extracts in their
order of time, while I take a glance as to who our client is." He
picked a red-covered volume from a line of books of reference beside
the mantelpiece. "Here he is," said he, sitting down and flattening
it out upon his knee. "'Lord Robert Walsingham de Vere St. Simon,
second son of the Duke of Balmoral.' Hum! 'Arms: Azure, three
caltrops in chief over a fess sable. Born in 1846.' He's forty-one
years of age, which is mature for marriage. Was Under-Secretary for
the colonies in a late administration. The Duke, his father, was at
one time Secretary for Foreign Affairs. They inherit Plantagenet
blood by direct descent, and Tudor on the distaff side. Ha! Well,
there is nothing very instructive in all this. I think that I must
turn to you Watson, for something more solid."

"I have very little difficulty in finding what I want," said I, "for
the facts are quite recent, and the matter struck me as remarkable. I
feared to refer them to you, however, as I knew that you had an
inquiry on hand and that you disliked the intrusion of other
matters."

"Oh, you mean the little problem of the Grosvenor Square furniture
van. That is quite cleared up now--though, indeed, it was obvious

still sharing rooms with Holmes in Baker Street, that he came home

from an afternoon stroll to find a letter on the table waiting for

him. I had remained indoors all day, for the weather had taken a

sudden turn to rain, with high autumnal winds, and the Jezail bullet

which I had brought back in one of my limbs as a relic of my Afghan

campaign throbbed with dull persistence. With my body in one

easy-chair and my legs upon another, I had surrounded myself with a

cloud of newspapers until at last, saturated with the news of the

day, I tossed them all aside and lay listless, watching the huge

crest and monogram upon the envelope upon the table and wondering

lazily who my friend's noble correspondent could be.

"Here is a very fashionable epistle," I remarked as he entered. "Your

morning letters, if I remember right, were from a fish-monger and a

tide-waiter."

"Yes, my correspondence has certainly the charm of variety," he

answered, smiling, "and the humbler are usually the more interesting.

This looks like one of those unwelcome social summonses which call

upon a man either to be bored or to lie."

He broke the seal and glanced over the contents.

"Oh, come, it may prove to be something of interest, after all."

"Not social, then?"

"No, distinctly professional."

"And from a noble client?"

"One of the highest in England."

"My dear fellow, I congratulate you."

"I assure you, Watson, without affectation, that the status of my

client is a matter of less moment to me than the interest of his

case. It is just possible, however, that that also may not be wanting

in this new investigation. You have been reading the papers

diligently of late, have you not?"

"It looks like it," said I ruefully, pointing to a huge bundle in the

corner. "I have had nothing else to do."

"It is fortunate, for you will perhaps be able to post me up. I read

nothing except the criminal news and the agony column. The latter is

always instructive. But if you have followed recent events so closely

you must have read about Lord St. Simon and his wedding?"

"Oh, yes, with the deepest interest."

"That is well. The letter which I hold in my hand is from Lord St.

Simon. I will read it to you, and in return you must turn over these

papers and let me have whatever bears upon the matter. This is what

he says:

"'My dear Mr. Sherlock Holmes:

"'Lord Backwater tells me that I may place implicit reliance upon

your judgment and discretion. I have determined, therefore, to call

upon you and to consult you in reference to the very painful event

which has occurred in connection with my wedding. Mr. Lestrade, of

Scotland Yard, is acting already in the matter, but he assures me

that he sees no objection to your co-operation, and that he even

thinks that it might be of some assistance. I will call at four

o'clock in the afternoon, and, should you have any other engagement

at that time, I hope that you will postpone it, as this matter is of

paramount importance.

"'Yours faithfully,

"'St. Simon.'

"It is dated from Grosvenor Mansions, written with a quill pen, and

the noble lord has had the misfortune to get a smear of ink upon the

outer side of his right little finger," remarked Holmes as he folded

up the epistle.

"He says four o'clock. It is three now. He will be here in an hour."

"Then I have just time, with your assistance, to get clear upon the

subject. Turn over those papers and arrange the extracts in their

order of time, while I take a glance as to who our client is." He

picked a red-covered volume from a line of books of reference beside

the mantelpiece. "Here he is," said he, sitting down and flattening

it out upon his knee. "'Lord Robert Walsingham de Vere St. Simon,

second son of the Duke of Balmoral.' Hum! 'Arms: Azure, three

caltrops in chief over a fess sable. Born in 1846.' He's forty-one

years of age, which is mature for marriage. Was Under-Secretary for

the colonies in a late administration. The Duke, his father, was at

one time Secretary for Foreign Affairs. They inherit Plantagenet

blood by direct descent, and Tudor on the distaff side. Ha! Well,

there is nothing very instructive in all this. I think that I must

turn to you Watson, for something more solid."

"I have very little difficulty in finding what I want," said I, "for

the facts are quite recent, and the matter struck me as remarkable. I

feared to refer them to you, however, as I knew that you had an

inquiry on hand and that you disliked the intrusion of other

matters."

"Oh, you mean the little problem of the Grosvenor Square furniture

van. That is quite cleared up now--though, indeed, it was obvious