Sherlock Holmes, Watson and Wilson, a client, met at
Holmes´s house. Wilson was a fat, red head that had something to tell. From the
second story of The Adventures of
Sherlock Holmes, The Red-Headed
League…
I had called
upon my friend, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, one day in the autumn of last year and
found him in deep conversation with a very stout, florid-faced, elderly
gentleman with fiery red hair. With an apology for my intrusion, I was about to
withdraw when Holmes pulled me abruptly into the room and closed the door behind
me.
“You could not
possibly have come at a better time, my dear Watson,” he said cordially.
“I was afraid
that you were engaged.”
“So I am. Very
much so.”
“Then I can wait
in the next room.”
“Not at all.
This gentleman, Mr. Wilson, has been my partner and helper in many of my most
successful cases, and I have no doubt that he will be of the utmost use to me
in yours also.”
The stout
gentleman half rose from his chair and gave a bob of greeting, with a quick
little questioning glance from his small fat-encircled eyes.
“Try the
settee,” said Holmes, relapsing into his armchair and putting his fingertips
together, as was his custom when in judicial moods. “I know, my dear Watson,
that you share my love of all that is bizarre and outside the conventions and
humdrum routine of everyday life. You have shown your relish for it by the
enthusiasm which has prompted you to chronicle, and, if you will excuse my
saying so, somewhat to embellish so many of my own little adventures.”
“Your cases have
indeed been of the greatest interest to me,” I observed.
“You will
remember that I remarked the other day, just before we went into the very
simple problem presented by Miss Mary Sutherland, that for strange effects and
extraordinary combinations we must go to life itself, which is always far more
daring than any effort of the imagination.”
“You did,
Doctor, but none the less you must come round to my view, for otherwise I shall
keep on piling fact upon fact on you until your reason breaks down under them
and acknowledges me to be right. Now, Mr. Jabez Wilson here has been good
enough to call upon me this morning, and to begin a narrative which promises to
be one of the most singular which I have listened to for some time. You have
heard me remark that the strangest and most unique things are very often
connected not with the larger but with the smaller crimes, and occasionally,
indeed, where there is room for doubt whether any positive crime has been
committed. As far as I have heard, it is impossible for me to say whether the
present case is an instance of crime or not, but the course of events is
certainly among the most singular that I have ever listened to. Perhaps, Mr.
Wilson, you would have the great kindness to recommence your narrative. I ask
you not merely because my friend Dr. Watson has not heard the opening part but
also because the peculiar nature of the story makes me anxious to have every
possible detail from your lips. As a rule, when I have heard some slight
indication of the course of events, I am able to guide myself by the thousands
of other similar cases which occur to my memory. In the present instance I am
forced to admit that the facts are, to the best of my belief, unique.”
The portly
client puffed out his chest with an appearance of some little pride and pulled
a dirty and wrinkled newspaper from the inside pocket of his greatcoat. As he
glanced down the advertisement column, with his head thrust forward and the
paper flattened out upon his knee, I took a good look at the man and
endeavoured, after the fashion of my companion, to read the indications which
might be presented by his dress or appearance.
I did not gain
very much, however, by my inspection. Our visitor bore every mark of being an
average commonplace British tradesman, obese, pompous, and slow. He wore rather
baggy grey shepherd’s check trousers, a not over-clean black frock-coat,
unbuttoned in the front, and a drab waistcoat with a heavy brassy Albert chain,
and a square pierced bit of metal dangling down as an ornament. A frayed
top-hat and a faded brown overcoat with a wrinkled velvet collar lay upon a
chair beside him. Altogether, look as I would, there was nothing remarkable
about the man save his blazing red head, and the expression of extreme chagrin
and discontent upon his features… (excerpts from The Red-Headed League, from The
Adventures of Sherlock Holmes, by Arthur Conan Doyle)
Vocabulary
Bob: nod
Humdrum: boring
Drab: colorless
Albert chain: A
chain used to make easier access to a pocket watch in the watchpocket of a
waistcoat.
Frayed: worn
Chagrin: sorrow
Summary
Watson visited
Sherlock and found him with a very stout, red hair man.
Sherlock asked
Jabez Wilson to retell his story.
The detective
doubted if this was a criminal case.
The client
showed an old newspaper.
Related
article
From
around the web
The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes, audio book at Librivox
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