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- adv-1512.txt
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- 554.71 KB
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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 foot-paths it still
lay as white as when it fell. The gray 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 . . .

- Name
- casebook-1512.txt
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- 479.97 KB
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The Adveniure of the Three Gables
I don't think that any of my adventures with Mr. Sherlock
Holmes opened quite so abruptly, or so dramatically, as that
which I associate with The Three Gables. I had not seen Holmes
for some days and had no idea of the new channel into which his
activities had been directed. He was in a chatty mood that
morning, however, and had just settled me into the well-worn
low armchair on one side of the fire, while he had curled down
with his pipe in his mouth upon the opposite chair, when our
visitor arrived. If I had said that a mad bull had arrived it would
give a clearer impression of what occurred.
The door had flown open and a huge negro had burst into the
room. He would have been a comic figure if he had not been
terrific, for he was dressed in a very loud gray check suit with a
flowing salmon-coloured tie. His broad face and flattened nose
were thrust forward, as his sullen dark eyes, with a smouldering
gleam of malice in them, turned . . .

- Name
- doyledoc-1512.txt
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- 1.77 KB
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The Adventure of the Three Gables
The Adventure of the Three Garridebs
The Adventure of the Three Students
The Adventure of the Abbey Grange
The Adventure of the Beryl Coronet
The Aduenture of Black Peter
The Adventure of the Blanched Soldier
The Adventure of the Blue Carbuncle
The Boscombe Valley Mystery
The Adventure of the Bruce-Partington Plans
The Adventure of the Cardboard Box
A Case of Identity
The Adventure of Charles Augustus Milverton
The Adventure of the Copper Beeches
The Adventure of the Creeping Man
The Crooked Man
The Adventure of the Dancing Men
The Adventure of the Devil's Foot
The Adventure of the Dying Detective
The Adventure of the Empty House
The Adventure of the Engineer's Thumb
The Final Problem
The Five Orange Pips
The "Gloria Scott"
The Adventure of the Golden Pince-Nez
The Greek Interpreter
His Last Bow
The Hound of the Baskervilles
The Adventure of the Illustrious Client
The Disappearance of Lady Frances Carfax
The Adventure of the Lion's Mane
The Man with th . . .

- Name
- hound-1512.txt
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- 314.3 KB
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Chapter 1
Mr. Sherlock Holmes
Mr. Sherlock Holmes, who was usually very late in the
mornings, save upon those not infrequent occasions when he was
up all night, was seated at the breakfast table. I stood upon the
hearth-rug and picked up the stick which our visitor had left
behind him the night before. It was a fine, thick piece of wood,
bulbous-headed, of the sort which is known as a "Penang law-
yer." Just under the head was a broad silver band nearly an inch
across. "To James Mortimer, M.R.C.S., from his friends of the
C.C.H.," was engraved upon it, with the date "1884." It was
just such a stick as the old-fashioned family practitioner used to
carry -- dignified, solid, and reassuring.
"Well, Watson, what do you make of it?"
Holmes was sitting with his back to me, and I had given him
no sign of my occupation.
"How did you know what I was doing? I believe you have
eyes in the back of your head."
"I have, at least, a well-polished, sil . . .

- Name
- lastbow-1512.txt
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- 319.52 KB
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His Last Bow
An Epilogue of Sherlock Holmes
It was nine o'clock at night upon the second of August -- the most terrible
August in the history of the world. One might have thought already that
God's curse hung heavy over a degenerate world, for there was an awesome
hush and a feeling of vague expectancy in the sultry and stagnant air. The
sun had long set, but one blood-red gash like an open wound lay low in the
distant west. Above, the stars were shining brightly, and below, the lights of
the shipping glimmered in the bay. The two famous Germans stood beside
the stone parapet of the garden walk, with the long, low, heavily gabled
house behind them, and they looked down upon the broad sweep of the
beach at the foot of the great chalk cliff on which Von Bork, like some
wandering eagle, had perched himself four years before. They stood with
their heads close together, talking in low, confidential tones. From below the
two glowing end . . .

- Name
- memoirs-1512.txt
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- 512.31 KB
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The Adventure of the Cardboard Box
In choosing a few typical cases which illustrate the remarkable
mental qualities of my friend, Sherlock Holmes, I have endeav-
oured, as far as possible, to select those which presented the
minimum of sensationalism, while offering a fair field for his
talents. It is, however, unfortunately impossible entirely to sepa-
rate the sensational from the criminal, and a chronicler is left in
the dilemma that he must either sacrifice details which are
essential to his statement and so give a false impression of the
problem, or he must use matter which chance, and not choice,
has provided him with. With this short preface I shall turn to my
notes of what proved to be a strange, though a peculiarly terri-
ble, chain of events.
It was a blazing hot day in August. Baker Street was like an
oven, and the glare of the sunlight upon the yellow brickwork of
the house across the road was painful to the eye. It was hard to
believe that these were . . .

- Name
- return-1512.txt
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- 600.03 KB
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The Adventure of the Three Students
It was in the year '95 that a combination of events, into which I
need not enter, caused Mr. Sherlock Holmes and myself to spend
some weeks in one of our great university towns, and it was
during this time that the small but instructive adventure which I
am about to relate befell us. It will be obvious that any details
which would help the reader exactly to identify the college or the
criminal would be injudicious and offensive. So painful a scan-
dal may well be allowed to die out. With due discretion the
incident itself may, however, be described, since it serves to
illustrate some of those qualities for which my friend was re-
markable. I will endeavour, in my statement, to avoid such terms
as would serve to limit the events to any particular place, or give
a clue as to the people concerned.
We were residing at the time in furnished lodgings close to a
library where Sherlock Holmes was pursuing some laborious
researches in earl . . .

- Name
- signof4-1512.txt
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- 227.92 KB
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Chapter 1
The Science of Deduction
Sherlock Holmes took his bottle from the corner of the mantel-
piece, and his hypodermic syringe from its neat morocco case.
With his long, white, nervous fingers he adjusted the delicate
needle and rolled back his left shirtcuff. For some little time his
eyes rested thoughtfully upon the sinewy forearm and wrist, all
dotted and scarred with innumerable puncture-marks. Finally, he
thrust the sharp point home, pressed down the tiny piston, and
sank back into the velvet-lined armchair with a long sigh of
satisfaction.
Three times a day for many months I had witnessed this
performance, but custom had not reconciled my mind to it. On
the contrary, from day to day I had become more irritable at the
sight, and my conscience swelled nightly within me at the thought
that I had lacked the courage to protest. Again and again I had
registered a vow that I should deliver my soul upon the subject;
but there was that in the . . .

- Name
- studyscarlet-1512.txt
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- 235.48 KB
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PART I
Being a Reprint from the Reminiscences of
John H. Watson, M.D., Late of the Army
Medical Department
Chapter 1
Mr. Sherlock Holmes
In the year 1878 I took my degree of Doctor of Medicine of the
University of London, and proceeded to Netley to go through the
course prescribed for surgeons in the Army. Having completed
my studies there, I was duly attached to the Fifth Northumberland
Fusiliers as assistant surgeon. The regiment was stationed in
India at the time, and before I could join it, the second Afghan
war had broken out. On landing at Bombay, I learned that my
corps had advanced through the passes, and was already deep in
the enemy's country. I followed, however, with many other
officers who were in the same situation as myself, and succeeded
in reaching Candahar in safety, where I found my regiment, and
at once entered upon my new duties.
The campai . . .

- Name
- valleyoffear-1512.txt
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- 308.33 KB
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PART 1
The Tragedy of Birlstone
Chapter 1
The Warning
"I am inclined to think -- " said I.
"I should do so," Sherlock Holmes remarked impatiently.
I believe that I am one of the most long-suffering of mortals;
but I'll admit that I was annoyed at the sardonic interruption.
"Really, Holmes," said I severely, "you are a little trying at
times."
He was too much absorbed with his own thoughts to give any
immediate answer to my remonstrance. He leaned upon his
hand, with his untasted breakfast before him, and he stared at the
slip of paper which he had just drawn from its envelope. Then he
took the envelope itself, held it up to the light, and very carefully
studied both the exterior and the flap.
"It is Porlock's writing," said he thoughtfully. "I can hardly
doubt that it is Porlock's writing, though I have seen it only
twice before. The Greek e with the peculiar top flourish . . .