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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 campaign brought honours and promotion to many, but for me it had nothing but misfortune and disaster. I was removed from my brigade and attached to the Berkshires,with whom I served at the fatal battle of Maiwand. There I was struck on the shoulder by a Jezail bullet, which shattered the bone and grazed the subclavian artery. I should have fallen into the hands of the murderous Ghazis had it not been for the devotion and courage shown by Murray, my orderly, who threw me across a pack-horse, and succeeded in bringing me safely to the British lines.

Worn with pain, and weak from the prolonged hardships which I had undergone, I was removed, with a great train of wounded sufferers, to the base hospital at Peshawur. Here I rallied, and had already improved so far as to be able to walk about the wards, and even to bask a little upon the verandah, when I was struck down by enteric fever, that curse of our Indian possessions. For months my life was despaired of, and when at last I came to myself and became convalescent, I was so weak and emaciated that a medical board determined that not a day should be lost in sending me back to England. I was despatched, accordingly, in the troopship Orontes, and landed a month later on Portsmouth jetty, with my health irretrievably ruined, but with permission from a paternal government to spend the next nine months in attempting to improve it.

I had neither kith nor kin in England, and was therefore as free as air—or as free as an income of eleven shillings and sixpence a day will permit a man to be. Under such circumstances I naturally gravitated to London, that great cesspool into which all the loungers and idlers of the Empire are irresistibly drained. There I stayed for some time at a private hotel in the Strand, leading a comfortless, meaningless existence, and spending such money as I had, considerably more freely than I ought. So alarming did the state of my finances become, that I soon realized that I must either leave the metropolis and rusticate somewhere in the country, or that I must make a complete alteration in my style of living. Choosing the latter alternative, I began by making up my mind to leave the hotel, and to take up my quarters in some less pretentious and less expensive domicile.

On the very day that I had come to this conclusion, I was standing at the Criterion Bar, when some one tapped me on the shoulder, and turning round I recognized young Stamford, who had been a dresser under me at Barts. The sight of a friendly face in the great wilderness of London is a pleasant thing indeed to a lonely man. In old days Stamford had never been a particular crony of mine, but now I hailed him with enthusiasm, and he, in his turn, appeared to be delighted to see me. In the exuberance of my joy, I asked him to lunch with me at the Holborn, and we started off together in a hansom.

“Whatever have you been doing with yourself, Watson?” he asked in undisguised wonder, as we rattled through the crowded London streets. “You are as thin as a lath and as brown as a nut.”

I gave him a short sketch of my adventures, and had hardly concluded it by the time that we reached our destination.

“Poor devil!” he said, commiseratingly, after he had listened to my misfortunes. “What are you up to now?”

“Looking for lodgings,” I answered. “Trying to solve the problem as to whether it is possible to get comfortable rooms at a reasonable price.”

“That’s a strange thing,” remarked my companion, “you are the second man to-day that has used that expression to me.”

“And who was the first?” I asked.

“A fellow who is working at the chemical laboratory up at the hospital. He was bemoaning himself this morning because he could not get some one to go halves with him in some nice rooms which he had found, and which were too much for his purse.”

“By Jove!” I cried; “if he really wants some one to share the rooms and the expense, I am the very man for him. I should prefer having a partner to being alone.”

Young Stamford looked rather strangely at me over his wine glass. “You don’t know Sherlock Holmes yet,” he said; “perhaps you would not care for him as a constant companion.”

“Why, what is there against him?”

“Oh, I didn’t say there was anything against him. He is a little queer in his ideas—an enthusiast in some branches of science. As far as I know he is a decent fellow enough.”

“A medical student, I suppose?” said I.

“No—I have no idea what he intends to go in for. I believe he is well up in anatomy, and he is a first-class chemist; but, as far as I know, he has never taken out any systematic medical classes. His studies are very desultory and eccentric, but he has amassed a lot of out-of-the-way knowledge which would astonish his professors.”

“Did you never ask him what he was going in for?” I asked.

“No; he is not a man that it is easy to draw out, though he can be communicative enough when the fancy seizes him.”

“I should like to meet him,” I said. “If I am to lodge with any one, I should prefer a man of studious and quiet habits. I am not strong enough yet to stand much noise or excitement. I had enough of both in Afghanistan to last me for the remainder of my natural existence. How could I meet this friend of yours?”

“He is sure to be at the laboratory,” returned my companion. “He either avoids the place for weeks, or else he works there from morning till night. If you like, we will drive round together after luncheon.”

“Certainly,” I answered, and the conversation drifted away into other channels.

As we made our way to the hospital after leaving the Holborn, Stamford gave me a few more particulars about the gentleman whom I proposed to take as a fellow-lodger.

“You mustn’t blame me if you don’t get on with him,” he said; “I know nothing more of him than I have learned from meeting him occasionally in the laboratory. You proposed this arrangement, so you must not hold me responsible.”

“If we don’t get on it will be easy to part company,” I answered. “It seems to me, Stamford,” I added, looking hard at my companion, “that you have some reason for washing your hands of the matter. Is this fellow’s temper so formidable, or what is it? Don’t be mealy-mouthed about it.”

“It is not easy to express the inexpressible,” he answered with a laugh. “Holmes is a little too scientific for my tastes—it approaches to cold-bloodedness. I could imagine his giving a friend a little pinch of the latest vegetable alkaloid,15 not out of malevolence, you understand, but simply out of a spirit of inquiry in order to have an accurate idea of the effects. To do him justice, I think that he would take it himself with the same readiness. He appears to have a passion for definite and exact knowledge.”

“Very right too.”

“Yes, but it may be pushed to excess. When it comes to beating the subjects in the dissecting-rooms with a stick, it is certainly taking rather a bizarre shape.”

“Beating the subjects!”

“Yes, to verify how far bruises may be produced after death. I saw him at it with my own eyes.”

“And yet you say he is not a medical student?”

“No. Heaven knows what the objects of his studies are. But here we are, and you must form your own impressions about him.” As he spoke, we turned down a narrow lane and passed through a small side-door, which opened into a wing of the great hospital. It was familiar ground to me, and I needed no guiding as we ascended the bleak stone staircase and made our way down the long corridor with its vista of whitewashed wall and dun-coloured doors. Near the farther end a low arched passage branched away from it and led to the chemical laboratory.

This was a lofty chamber, lined and littered with countless bottles. Broad, low tables were scattered about, which bristled with retorts, test-tubes, and little Bunsen lamps, with their blue flickering flames. There was only one student in the room, who was bending over a distant table absorbed in his work. At the sound of our steps he glanced round and sprang to his feet with a cry of pleasure. “I’ve found it! I’ve found it,” he shouted to my companion, running towards us with a test-tube in his hand. “I have found a re-agent which is precipitated by hœmoglobin, and by nothing else.” Had he discovered a gold mine, greater delight could not have shone upon his features.

“Dr. Watson, Mr. Sherlock Holmes,” said Stamford, introducing us.

“How are you?” he said cordially, gripping my hand with a strength for which I should hardly have given him credit. “You have been in Afghanistan, I perceive.”

“How on earth did you know that?” I asked in astonishment.

“Never mind,” said he, chuckling to himself. “The question now is about hœmoglobin. No doubt you see the significance of this discovery of mine?”

“It is interesting, chemically, no doubt,” I answered, “but practically——”

“Why, man, it is the most practical medico-legal discovery for years. Don’t you see that it gives us an infallible test for blood stains. Come over here now!” He seized me by the coat-sleeve in his eagerness, and drew me over to the table at which he had been working. “Let us have some fresh blood,” he said, digging a long bodkin into his finger, and drawing off the resulting drop of blood in a chemical pipette. “Now, I add this small quantity of blood to a litre of water. You perceive that the resulting mixture has the appearance of pure water. The proportion of blood cannot be more than one in a million. I have no doubt, however, that we shall be able to obtain the characteristic reaction.” As he spoke, he threw into the vessel a few white crystals, and then added some drops of a transparent fluid. In an instant the contents assumed a dull mahogany colour, and a brownish dust was precipitated to the bottom of the glass jar.

“Ha! ha!” he cried, clapping his hands, and looking as delighted as a child with a new toy. “What do you think of that?”

“It seems to be a very delicate test,” I remarked.

“Beautiful! beautiful! The old guaiacum test was very clumsy and uncertain. So is the microscopic examination for blood corpuscles. The latter is valueless if the stains are a few hours old. Now, this appears to act as well whether the blood is old or new. Had this test been invented, there are hundreds of men now walking the earth who would long ago have paid the penalty of their crimes.”

“Indeed!” I murmured.

“Criminal cases are continually hinging upon that one point. A man is suspected of a crime months perhaps after it has been committed. His linen or clothes are examined and brownish stains discovered upon them. Are they blood stains, or mud stains, or rust stains, or fruit stains, or what are they? That is a question which has puzzled many an expert, and why? Because there was no reliable test. Now we have the Sherlock Holmes test, and there will no longer be any difficulty.”

His eyes fairly glittered as he spoke, and he put his hand over his heart and bowed as if to some applauding crowd conjured up by his imagination.

“You are to be congratulated,” I remarked, considerably surprised at his enthusiasm.

“There was the case of Von Bischoff at Frankfort last year. He would certainly have been hung had this test been in existence. Then there was Mason of Bradford, and the notorious Muller, and Lefevre of Montpellier, and Samson of New Orleans. I could name a score of cases in which it would have been decisive.”

“You seem to be a walking calendar of crime,” said Stamford with a laugh. “You might start a paper on those lines. Call it the ‘Police News of the Past.’ ”

“Very interesting reading it might be made, too,” remarked Sherlock Holmes, sticking a small piece of plaster over the prick on his finger. “I have to be careful,” he continued, turning to me with a smile, “for I dabble with poisons a good deal.” He held out his hand as he spoke, and I noticed that it was all mottled over with similar pieces of plaster, and discoloured with strong acids.

“We came here on business,” said Stamford, sitting down on a high three-legged stool, and pushing another one in my direction with his foot. “My friend here wants to take diggings; and as you were complaining that you could get no one to go halves with you, I thought that I had better bring you together.”

Sherlock Holmes seemed delighted at the idea of sharing his rooms with me. “I have my eye on a suite in Baker Street,” he said, “which would suit us down to the ground. You don’t mind the smell of strong tobacco, I hope?”

“I always smoke ‘ship’s’ myself,” I answered.

“That’s good enough. I generally have chemicals about, and occasionally do experiments. Would that annoy you?”

“By no means.”

“Let me see—what are my other shortcomings. I get in the dumps at times, and don’t open my mouth for days on end. You must not think I am sulky when I do that. Just let me alone, and I’ll soon be right. What have you to confess now? It’s just as well for two fellows to know the worst of one another before they begin to live together.”

I laughed at this cross-examination. “I keep a bull pup,” I said, “and I object to row because my nerves are shaken, and I get up at all sorts of ungodly hours, and I am extremely lazy. I have another set of vices when I’m well, but those are the principal ones at present.”

“Do you include violin playing in your category of rows?” he asked, anxiously.

“It depends on the player,” I answered. “A well-played violin is a treat for the gods—a badly-played one——”

“Oh, that’s all right,” he cried, with a merry laugh. “I think we may consider the thing as settled—that is, if the rooms are agreeable to you.”

“When shall we see them?”

“Call for me here at noon to-morrow, and we’ll go together and settle everything,” he answered.

“All right—noon exactly,” said I, shaking his hand.

We left him working among his chemicals, and we walked together towards my hotel.

“By the way,” I asked suddenly, stopping and turning upon Stamford, “how the deuce did he know that I had come from Afghanistan?”

My companion smiled an enigmatical smile. “That’s just his little peculiarity,” he said. “A good many people have wanted to know how he finds things out.”

“Oh! a mystery is it?” I cried, rubbing my hands. “This is very piquant. I am much obliged to you for bringing us together. ‘The proper study of mankind is man,’ you know.”

“You must study him, then,” Stamford said, as he bade me good-bye. “You’ll find him a knotty problem, though. I’ll wager he learns more about you than you about him. Good-bye.”

“Good-bye,” I answered, and strolled on to my hotel, considerably interested in my new acquaintance. --Ce texte fait référence à l'édition Broché .

Revue de presse

“[Holmes] is probably the only literary creation since the creations of Dickens which has really passed into the life and language of the people.”—G. K. Chesterton --Ce texte fait référence à l'édition Broché .

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Détails sur le produit

  • Cassette
  • Editeur : Naxos AudioBooks; Édition : Unabridged (1 février 2002)
  • Langue : Anglais
  • ISBN-10: 962634749X
  • ISBN-13: 978-9626347492
  • Dimensions du produit: 17,9 x 11,5 x 2,8 cm
  • Moyenne des commentaires client : 4.0 étoiles sur 5  Voir tous les commentaires (1 commentaire client)
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Par Ryuana le 2 août 2015
Format: Relié Achat vérifié
Un petit commentaire en français pour changer!
J'aime beaucoup ce que fait Gris Grimly. Même si je préfère son travail fait sur Edgar Allan Poe que je trouve juste fantastique, le travail fait sur cet ouvrage est de très bonne facture également.
C'est un ouvrage illustré par Grimly, il n'y a donc pas de dessins à chaque coin de page.
Elément que j'ai trouvé sympathique, le livre semble avoir eu les pages découpées pour permettre la lecture, comme pour les ouvrages anciens (j'espère être clair!)
Anglais très facile, même si quelques mots peuvent obliger le lecteur à aller faire un tour dans le dico, en fonction de son niveau dans la langue.
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Amazon.com: 313 commentaires
27 internautes sur 27 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
Excellent! 16 août 2010
Par LeeHoFooks - Publié sur Amazon.com
Format: Broché Achat vérifié
This was the first Sherlock Holmes story I had ever read. I always thought the Sherlock Holmes stories were about a generic genius detective and his kind-of-bumbling sidekick. Was I ever wrong! The characters have so many more dimensions than their pop culture portrayals would lead one to believe.

Yes, Holmes is a genius... when it comes to solving crimes. He's a knowledgeable chemist and forensics specialist, he's a skilled actor and boxer, and his powers in deductive reasoning are superb. He also isn't aware that the Earth revolves around the sun. When he finds out, he simply says that he'll forget it later. (It serves no purpose for detective work.) Did I mention that he suffers from what we would today call bipolar disorder? Oh yeah -- he's also developing a cocaine habit.

And Watson? He's the overweight, bumbling goof that follows Holmes around and has to have simple things explained to him, right? Not so. Watson is a physician, and a wounded veteran of an early British Army campaign in Afghanistan. He came home to London, suffering from what we would today call PTSD, and moved in with an eccentric friend of a friend who needed a roommate who turned out to be Holmes. He's a well-educated person and the perfect Victorian gentleman -- a fitting character to partner with and complement the odd-but-brilliant Holmes.

As for the story, I don't want to give away too much. (It is a mystery, after all.) But I will say the surprising plot turns kept me reading, without seeming like the twists for the sake of twists many mysteries and thrillers plague their readers with. (You should take note, James Patterson.) A story is framed within the main story -- a Western tale of revenge within a Victorian murder mystery, believe it or not. And the killer is just as deep and 3-dimensional as the detectives. But I've said too much. Go read it for yourself!
31 internautes sur 33 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
Introducing Sherlock Holmes... and a Kindle Review 30 novembre 2011
Par Albert J. Valentino - Publié sur Amazon.com
Format: Format Kindle Achat vérifié
A Study in Scarlet is the first story introducing Sherlock Holmes to the world and how Watson and the great detective first meet and become roommates. It is also the first book I read on my first/new Kindle.

Kindle Edition: This version cost me 99 cents and was money very well spent. It is nicely formatted with the 'Go To' letting you go to the Table of Contents - not all older Kindle books do that. The TOC does have workable links to go to each chapter but you cannot use the left - right ends of the 5 way controller to flip to each chapter - not a big deal. Other than the cover photo of Holmes by Sidney Paget this version does not include any illustrations.

The Story: A Study in Scarlet is the first story in the Holmes Canon, and includes how Watson and Holmes meet.... 'This is a novel, not a short story'. The second story in the canon is also a novel, A The Sign of the Four. This was then followed by the Adventures of Sherlock Holmes which is a book of short stories beginning with, A Scandal in Bohemia. Later on Doyle penned two other novels including the well known, Hound of the Baskervilles - actually written after he killed off Holmes in the story, The Final Problem (last story in 'The Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes' but the pubic demanded his return so many more stories were written - Holmes comes back in The Adventure of the Empty House, the first story in book "The Return of Sherlock Holmes". I do suggest that one begin their reading with A Study in Scarlet followed by The Sign of Four as this novel gets into how Holmes mind needs stimulation and when not on a case he lapses into injecting his 7% solution (there is a movie of this title). His 7% solution is the ratio of cocaine in his syringe where he shoots up to pass the time.

This original/first story/novel has two parts with Part 1, narrated by Watson, on how Holmes uses his powers of observation and deduction to solve a double murder. Part II may start off a bit confusing to the reader since it is not narrated by Watson. It takes the reader back to another place, in an earlier time leaving the reader to first scratch his head wondering if this is a different book. What part 2 is is a detailed backstory for the motivation of the murders in part 1. Well written but it does take up over a third of the book before returning to present time.

A Study in Scarlet was never made into a movie or TV show because of the way it portrays the early Mormons - which is the way they were believed to be at the time of the writings. Study in Pink, in the new, 2011 BBC Masterpiece TV series, Sherlock, is a modern story loosely based on this book but leaves out this part. There is a movie from the 30's with this title but it is not the same story.

Bottom line, this is the first book introducing the eccentric Holmes and it's a real page turner. This Kindle edition is well formatted for Kindle but does not include illustrations. There is a reason why 120 years later this is a still widely read. It is a must read for any fan of the most famous detective that never lived. After reading this pick up Sign of Four, then short stories in The Adventure of Sherlock Holmes
9 internautes sur 10 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
Read it! 26 octobre 2010
Par Dustin - Publié sur Amazon.com
Format: Broché Achat vérifié
This was a great book; I highly recommend it to anyone who likes detective stories or mysteries. It's pretty short, so you can read it quickly. I've read the other Sherlock Holmes books, but I really like this one because it introduces the characters and you get to know their personalities. The story is an incredible one with such a strange background I could never have thought it up. Definitely worth a read!
6 internautes sur 7 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
A good introduction to a great character 6 février 2005
Par Matt Hetling - Publié sur Amazon.com
Format: Poche
Meet Sherlock Holmes. Hopelessly eccentric, devastatingly brilliant, and seemingly born of a supernatural ability to accomplish what he sets his mind to, the world's greatest detective has devoted himself to the pursuit of criminals. By matching wits with both the criminals he hunts and the official police inspectors, Holmes has found a pasttime that has a neverending series of puzzles on which he can train his amazing powers of observation and deduction.

We're all familiar with this character, and that's because, a hundred years after Holmes was first unveiled to the public, he continues to gather new readers. An icon who has spawned dozens of stereotypes, Holmes has a universal appeal that still fascinates us, even though the world of crimefighting has transformed itself entirely.

For the modern reader, the writing is stiff and takes some getting used to. Watson's buffoonish amazement at every word Holmes utters is comical, and the pronouncements of the great detective seem arrogant and, at times, obvious or self-serving. But make no mistake. There's some magic in these writings.

This particular edition (I have the 1975 printing) is a very nice introduction to Holmes, beginning as it does with the first two stories which made the character famous. Young readers in particular should enjoy the immersion in Victorian England, and the exposure to this great character's methods. Highly recommended.
3 internautes sur 3 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
Introducing ... Sherlock Holmes! 26 avril 2002
Par Godly Gadfly - Publié sur Amazon.com
Format: Broché
A Study in Scarlet is a good detective story, but certainly not Doyle�s greatest. But it bears the distinction of being the novel which introduced the world to the legendary Sherlock Holmes. First appearing in 1887, it was not to be the greatest story about Sherlock Holmes, but it was the first. Doyle first introduces us to John H. Watson, a medical doctor recovering from duty in Afghanistan. Watson needs a room-mate, and a mutual acquaintance introduces both him and us to Holmes. So we come to know both Holmes, Watson, and the memorable 221B Baker Street.
Watson�s first impressions of Holmes are merely that he is a man enshrouded in mystery and eccentricity, and Watson politely restrains his curiosity by avoiding asking too many intrusive questions, despite the parade of strange individuals that come to their apartment to consult Holmes, and despite his bemusement at Holmes� passion for playing the violin and his egotism. Watson�s perplexation at Holmes� character and profession is slowly unravelled in the second chapter which Doyle appropriately titles �The Science of Deduction�. Watson observes that �his zeal for certain studies was remarkable, and within eccentric limits his knowledge was so extraordinarily ample and minute that his observations have fairly astounded me �His ignorance was as remarkable as his knowledge. Of contemporary literature, philosophy and politics he appeared to know next to nothing � That any civilized human being in this nineteenth century should not be aware that the earth travelled round the sun appeared to me to be such an extraordinary fact that I could hardly realize it.�(p11). Holmes apparently is brilliant at identifying a stain on your trousers, but completely ignorant about the most elementary contemporary political events.
Ironically, Watson�s inability to deduce Holmes� profession proves that he lacks the very ability that he is seeking to uncover in Holmes: deduction. For Holmes doesn�t just excel in specialized knowledge, but especially in the science of deduction and logic. By utilizing the skills of observation and analysis Holmes asserts that logic could solve all virtually all problems. In his words: �From a drop of water, a logician could infer the possibility of an Atlantic or a Niagara without having seen or heard of one or the other. So all life is a great chain, the nature of which is known whenever we are shown a single link of it. Like all other arts, the Science of Deduction and Analysis is one which can only be acquired by long and patient study, nor is life long enough to allow any mortal to attain the highest possible perfection in it. Before turning to those moral and mental aspects of the matter which present the greatest difficulties, let the inquirer begin by mastering more elementary problems. Let him, on meeting a fellow-mortal, learn at a glance to distinguish the history of the man, and the trade or profession to which he belongs. Puerile as such an exercise may seem, it sharpens the faculties of observation, and teaches on where to look and what to look for. By a mans� finger-nails, by his coat-sleeve, by his boots, by his trouser-knees, by the callosities of his forefinger and thumb, by his expression, by his shirtcuffs � by each of these things a man�s calling is plainly revealed. That all united should fail to enlighten the competent inquirer in any case is almost inconceivable.� (p14-15). Watson calls this science of deduction �ineffable twaddle�, but as we know, this is the vintage Holmes we love and the very core of his being. Not only does he prove it to Watson by remarkably deducing that Watson had served duty in Afghanistan, but by collaring the criminal in a murder case.
The story itself consists in two parts: the first part introduces us to Holmes and Watson, and describes the murder of Enoch Drebber and his secretary Joseph Stangerson, and several failed attempts of Scotland Yard detectives to solve it, concluding with Holmes unmasking the real perpetrator, to the complete astonishment of all present. The second part is a flashback, explaining the background and motives for the murder, as finally Holmes relates the observations and deductions that led him to solving it. In short, �the crime was the result of an old-standing and romantic feud, in which love and Mormonism bore a part.� (p103)
But what is fascinating about �A Study in Scarlet� is not so much the mystery, but the man: Holmes himself. Doyle would later learn to eliminate some of the excess baggage present in this story (such as the extended flashback) and focus on Holmes and his deductions. The characterization of Holmes as an eccentric man driven by logic is wonderfully created for the first time in this novel. Already here is the foundation of the Sherlock Holmes that would become so successful in all of Doyle�s later stories. A few quotes illustrate how the tone of the deductive Holmes is set: �In solving a problem of this sort, the grand thing is to be able to reason backward. That is a very useful accomplishment, and a very easy one, but people do not practise it much.� (p99-100) �There is no branch of detective science which is so important and so much neglected as the art of tracing footsteps.� (p100) �You see, the whole thing is a chain of logical sequences without a break or flaw.� (p102)
Here the successful formula is already established: Scotland Yard is baffled, so is his foil the bumbling doctor Watson, and so are we the readers. Holmes has long solved the mystery before we have even begun identifying red herrings, and it is when he sits by the fire and explains to Watson the process of deduction that we curl up in delight. The partnership between the super-sleuth Holmes and his beloved side-kick Watson all starts here, and if you love Sherlock Holmes, you won�t want to miss it!
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