Datasets:
elapt1c
/
ElapticAI-512

Dataset card Data Studio Files
xet
 Community
1
Search is not available for this dataset
text
stringlengths
0
149M
gone off with a man, and the man was either a lover or was a previous
husband—the chances being in favour of the latter.
“And how in the world did you find them?
“It might have been difficult, but friend Lestrade held information in
his hands the value of which he did not himself know. The initials
were, of course, of the highest importance, but more valuable still was
it to know that within a week he had settled his bill at one of the
most select London hotels.
“How did you deduce the select?
“By the select prices. Eight shillings for a bed and eightpence for a
glass of sherry pointed to one of the most expensive hotels. There are
not many in London which charge at that rate. In the second one which I
visited in Northumberland Avenue, I learned by an inspection of the
book that Francis H. Moulton, an American gentleman, had left only the
day before, and on looking over the entries against him, I came upon
the very items which I had seen in the duplicate bill. His letters were
to be forwarded to 226 Gordon Square; so thither I travelled, and being
fortunate enough to find the loving couple at home, I ventured to give
them some paternal advice and to point out to them that it would be
better in every way that they should make their position a little
clearer both to the general public and to Lord St. Simon in particular.
I invited them to meet him here, and, as you see, I made him keep the
appointment.
“But with no very good result, I remarked. “His conduct was certainly
not very gracious.
“Ah, Watson, said Holmes, smiling, “perhaps you would not be very
gracious either, if, after all the trouble of wooing and wedding, you
found yourself deprived in an instant of wife and of fortune. I think
that we may judge Lord St. Simon very mercifully and thank our stars
that we are never likely to find ourselves in the same position. Draw
your chair up and hand me my violin, for the only problem we have still
to solve is how to while away these bleak autumnal evenings.
XI. THE ADVENTURE OF THE BERYL CORONET
“Holmes, said I as I stood one morning in our bow-window looking down
the street, “here is a madman coming along. It seems rather sad that
his relatives should allow him to come out alone.
My friend rose lazily from his armchair and stood with his hands in the
pockets of his dressing-gown, looking over my shoulder. It was a
bright, crisp February morning, and the snow of the day before still
lay deep upon the ground, shimmering brightly in the wintry sun. Down
the centre of Baker Street it had been ploughed into a brown crumbly
band by the traffic, but at either side and on the heaped-up edges of
the footpaths it still lay as white as when it fell. The grey pavement
had been cleaned and scraped, but was still dangerously slippery, so
that there were fewer passengers than usual. Indeed, from the direction
of the Metropolitan Station no one was coming save the single gentleman
whose eccentric conduct had drawn my attention.
He was a man of about fifty, tall, portly, and imposing, with a
massive, strongly marked face and a commanding figure. He was dressed
in a sombre yet rich style, in black frock-coat, shining hat, neat
brown gaiters, and well-cut pearl-grey trousers. Yet his actions were
in absurd contrast to the dignity of his dress and features, for he was
running hard, with occasional little springs, such as a weary man gives
who is little accustomed to set any tax upon his legs. As he ran he
jerked his hands up and down, waggled his head, and writhed his face
into the most extraordinary contortions.
“What on earth can be the matter with him? I asked. “He is looking up
at the numbers of the houses.
“I believe that he is coming here, said Holmes, rubbing his hands.
“Here?
“Yes; I rather think he is coming to consult me professionally. I think
that I recognise the symptoms. Ha! did I not tell you? As he spoke,
the man, puffing and blowing, rushed at our door and pulled at our bell
until the whole house resounded with the clanging.
A few moments later he was in our room, still puffing, still
gesticulating, but with so fixed a look of grief and despair in his
eyes that our smiles were turned in an instant to horror and pity. For
a while he could not get his words out, but swayed his body and plucked
at his hair like one who has been driven to the extreme limits of his
reason. Then, suddenly springing to his feet, he beat his head against
the wall with such force that we both rushed upon him and tore him away
to the centre of the room. Sherlock Holmes pushed him down into the
easy-chair and, sitting beside him, patted his hand and chatted with
him in the easy, soothing tones which he knew so well how to employ.
“You have come to me to tell your story, have you not? said he. “You
are fatigued with your haste. Pray wait until you have recovered
yourself, and then I shall be most happy to look into any little
problem which you may submit to me.
The man sat for a minute or more with a heaving chest, fighting against