The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes

by Arthur Conan Doyle

Contents

1. A Scandal in Bohemia
2. The Red-Headed League
3. A Case of Identity
4. The Boscombe Valley Mystery
5. The Five Orange Pips
6. The Man with the Twisted Lip
7. The Adventure of the Blue Carbuncle
8. The Adventure of the Speckled Band
9. The Adventure of the Engineer's Thumb
10. The Adventure of the Noble Bachelor
11. The Adventure of the Beryl Coronet
12. The Adventure of the Copper Beeches

I. A Scandal in Bohemia

Part One

To Sherlock Holmes, she is always "the woman." I have almost never heard him call her anything else. To him, she was more important than any other woman. But this did not mean he loved Irene Adler. Holmes did not like strong feelings like love. His mind was cold and careful, like a very precise machine. He was the best thinker and watcher the world had ever seen. But if he fell in love, it might mess up his careful thinking. He only ever talked about love to make fun of it. He thought feelings were useful for watching other people — feelings could show what people really wanted or planned. But he believed a good thinker should never let feelings get into his own mind. It would be like sand getting stuck in a delicate machine. Still, there was one woman he always remembered: Irene Adler. She had died, and people still were not sure what to think of her.

I had not seen much of Holmes lately. I had gotten married, and that had pulled us apart a little. I was happy with my new home and my wife, and that kept me busy. Holmes did not like being around people much. He stayed in our old rooms on Baker Street, surrounded by his books. Some weeks he used a drug called cocaine, which made him sleepy. Other weeks he was full of energy, working hard on something. He still loved studying crime. He used his amazing skills to solve mysteries that the police had given up on. I heard bits of news about him — like the time he was called to Odessa for a murder case, or when he solved a strange case involving two brothers, or when he helped a royal family in Holland. But other than that, I did not know much about my old friend anymore.

One night — March 20th, 1888 — I was walking home from visiting a patient (I was a doctor again by then). My path took me down Baker Street. I passed the door I remembered so well — the door from when I was courting my wife, and from our old case, A Study in Scarlet. Suddenly, I really wanted to see Holmes again. I wanted to know what he was working on. His windows were lit up bright. I saw his tall, thin shadow pass by twice. He was walking fast, back and forth, head down, hands behind his back. I knew this meant he was working on a new case. I rang the bell and was let up to my old room.

Holmes was never very warm in how he greeted people. But I think he was happy to see me. Without saying much, he waved for me to sit down. He tossed me his cigars and pointed to the drinks in the corner. Then he stood by the fire and looked at me closely, the way he always did.

"Marriage suits you," he said. "I think you've gained about seven and a half pounds since I saw you last, Watson."

"Seven!" I said.

"A little more than that, I think. And you're working as a doctor again, I see. You didn't tell me you were going back to work."

"Then how do you know?"

"I can see it — I can figure it out. How do I know you've been getting very wet lately, and that you have a clumsy servant girl?"

"My dear Holmes," I said, "this is too much! A few hundred years ago, people would have thought you were doing magic and burned you for it! It's true I walked in the country on Thursday and got very muddy. But I changed my clothes since then — how could you tell? And yes, my servant girl Mary Jane is clumsy, and my wife just told her she must leave. But how did you know that?"

He laughed quietly and rubbed his hands together.

"It's very simple," he said. "I can see six scratches on the inside of your left shoe, right where the firelight hits it. Someone scraped mud off it very carelessly, cutting the leather. That tells me two things: you were out in bad weather, and you have a servant who is rough on shoes. As for your work as a doctor — a man who smells like medicine, has a black mark on his finger from a certain chemical doctors use, and has a bump in his hat where he hides his stethoscope — well, it would be silly of me not to guess he's a doctor!"

I laughed at how easily he explained his thinking. "When you explain it," I said, "it always sounds so simple that I feel like I could have figured it out myself. But each time, before you explain, I am completely stuck. And yet I think my eyes are just as good as yours."

"That's true," he said, lighting a cigarette and sitting down. "You see things, but you do not observe them. There's a difference. For example — you've walked up the stairs to this room many times."

"Many times."

"How many?"

"Well... hundreds, probably."

"Then how many steps are there?"

"How many? I don't know."

"Exactly! You have not observed, even though you have seen. That's my whole point. I know there are seventeen steps — because I both saw and observed. Speaking of small puzzles like this, since you like writing about my cases, you might find this interesting." He handed me a pink piece of paper that had been lying on the table. "It came in the mail," he said. "Read it out loud."

The note had no date, no name, and no address.

"A gentleman will visit you tonight at a quarter to eight," it said. "He needs to talk with you about something very important. Your recent work for a royal family in Europe shows that people can trust you with serious matters. We have heard this about you from many places. Be in your room at that time, and do not be upset if your visitor wears a mask."

"This is certainly a mystery," I said. "What do you think it means?"

"I don't have enough information yet. It's a big mistake to guess before you have facts. If you do, you start bending the facts to match your guess, instead of the other way around. But look at the note itself — what can you figure out from it?"

I looked closely at the writing and the paper.

"The man who wrote this must be rich," I said, trying to think like Holmes. "Paper like this is expensive. It's very thick and stiff."

"Thick and stiff — that's a good way to put it," said Holmes. "This isn't English paper at all. Hold it up to the light."

I did, and saw letters woven into the paper: a big "E" with a small "g," then "P," then a big "G" with a small "t."

"What do you think that means?" Holmes asked.

"Maybe the paper maker's name, or initials?"

"Not quite. The 'G' with the small 't' stands for a German word meaning 'Company' — like how we write 'Co.' The 'P' stands for the German word for 'Paper.' Now, for 'Eg' — let's check the map book." He pulled down a thick book. "Eglow... Eglonitz... here it is: Egria. It's in a German-speaking country, in Bohemia, near Carlsbad. It says here that a famous person named Wallenstein died there, and the town is known for making glass and paper. Ha! What do you think of that?"

His eyes lit up as he blew out a puff of smoke.

"The paper was made in Bohemia," I said.

"Exactly! And the man who wrote this note is German. Notice how oddly the sentences are put together — like 'This account of you we have from all quarters received.' A Frenchman or Russian wouldn't write it that way. Only a German writes English like that. So now we just need to find out what this German man — who writes on Bohemian paper and likes to wear masks — actually wants. And here he comes now, unless I'm mistaken, to answer all our questions himself."

Just then, we heard the sound of horses' hooves and wheels stopping outside, followed by a sharp ring of the doorbell. Holmes let out a whistle.

"Sounds like two horses," he said, looking out the window. "Yes — a nice little carriage, and two beautiful horses. Very expensive ones too. There's money involved in this case, Watson, if nothing else."

"I think I should go, Holmes."

"Not at all, Doctor. Stay right there. I need you here to help me remember everything, like always. This looks like it will be interesting — it would be a shame to miss it."

"But your visitor—"

"Don't worry about him. I might need your help, and he might too. Here he comes. Sit down, Doctor, and pay close attention."

We heard slow, heavy footsteps come up the stairs and stop right outside the door. Then came a loud, strong knock.

"Come in!" said Holmes.

A man walked in. He was very tall — at least six and a half feet — with the strong build of someone incredibly powerful. His clothes were rich and fancy, almost too fancy for English taste. His coat had thick fur bands on the sleeves, and a blue cloak hung over his shoulders, lined with bright orange-red silk. A glowing blue-green jewel called a beryl held the cloak closed at his neck. His tall boots, trimmed with brown fur, added to his wealthy, foreign look. He held a wide-brimmed hat in one hand, and across his eyes he wore a black mask. His hand was still near the mask, as though he'd just put it on before walking in. From what I could see of his face below the mask, he looked like a strong-willed man, with a thick lower lip and a long, straight chin...