The Complete Canon - The complete Sherlock Holmes

A Study In Scarlet“You will have your data soon,” I remarked, pointingwith my finger; “this is the Brixton Road, and thatis the house, if I am not very much mistaken.”“So it is. Stop, driver, stop!” We were still a hundredyards or so from it, but he insisted upon ouralighting, and we finished our journey upon foot.Number 3, Lauriston Gardens wore an ill-omenedand minatory look. It was one of four which stoodback some little way from the street, two being occupiedand two empty. The latter looked out withthree tiers of vacant melancholy windows, whichwere blank and dreary, save that here and there a“To Let” card had developed like a cataract upon thebleared panes. A small garden sprinkled over with ascattered eruption of sickly plants separated each ofthese houses from the street, and was traversed by anarrow pathway, yellowish in colour, and consistingapparently of a mixture of clay and of gravel. Thewhole place was very sloppy from the rain which hadfallen through the night. The garden was boundedby a three-foot brick wall with a fringe of wood railsupon the top, and against this wall was leaning astalwart police constable, surrounded by a small knotof loafers, who craned their necks and strained theireyes in the vain hope of catching some glimpse of theproceedings within.I had imagined that Sherlock Holmes would atonce have hurried into the house and plunged intoa study of the mystery. Nothing appeared to be furtherfrom his intention. With an air of nonchalancewhich, under the circumstances, seemed to me to borderupon affectation, he lounged up and down thepavement, and gazed vacantly at the ground, the sky,the opposite houses and the line of railings. Havingfinished his scrutiny, he proceeded slowly downthe path, or rather down the fringe of grass whichflanked the path, keeping his eyes riveted upon theground. Twice he stopped, and once I saw him smile,and heard him utter an exclamation of satisfaction.There were many marks of footsteps upon the wetclayey soil, but since the police had been coming andgoing over it, I was unable to see how my companioncould hope to learn anything from it. Still I had hadsuch extraordinary evidence of the quickness of hisperceptive faculties, that I had no doubt that he couldsee a great deal which was hidden from me.At the door of the house we were met by a tall,white-faced, flaxen-haired man, with a notebook inhis hand, who rushed forward and wrung my companion’shand with effusion. “It is indeed kind ofyou to come,” he said, “I have had everything leftuntouched.”“Except that!” my friend answered, pointing atthe pathway. “If a herd of buffaloes had passed alongthere could not be a greater mess. No doubt, however,you had drawn your own conclusions, Gregson,before you permitted this.”“I have had so much to do inside the house,” thedetective said evasively. “My colleague, Mr. Lestrade,is here. I had relied upon him to look after this.”Holmes glanced at me and raised his eyebrowssardonically. “With two such men as yourself andLestrade upon the ground, there will not be much fora third party to find out,” he said.Gregson rubbed his hands in a self-satisfied way.“I think we have done all that can be done,” he answered;“it’s a queer case though, and I knew yourtaste for such things.”“You did not come here in a cab?” asked SherlockHolmes.“No, sir.”“Nor Lestrade?”“No, sir.”“Then let us go and look at the room.” With whichinconsequent remark he strode on into the house,followed by Gregson, whose features expressed hisastonishment.A short passage, bare planked and dusty, led tothe kitchen and offices. Two doors opened out of it tothe left and to the right. One of these had obviouslybeen closed for many weeks. The other belonged tothe dining-room, which was the apartment in whichthe mysterious affair had occurred. Holmes walkedin, and I followed him with that subdued feeling atmy heart which the presence of death inspires.It was a large square room, looking all the largerfrom the absence of all furniture. A vulgar flaringpaper adorned the walls, but it was blotched in placeswith mildew, and here and there great strips hadbecome detached and hung down, exposing the yellowplaster beneath. Opposite the door was a showyfireplace, surmounted by a mantelpiece of imitationwhite marble. On one corner of this was stuck thestump of a red wax candle. The solitary window wasso dirty that the light was hazy and uncertain, givinga dull grey tinge to everything, which was intensifiedby the thick layer of dust which coated the wholeapartment.All these details I observed afterwards. At presentmy attention was centred upon the single grim motionlessfigure which lay stretched upon the boards,16