Someone in a novel, was he not? I don’t take much stock of detectives in novels – chaps that do things and never let you see how they do them.
How shall I ever forget that dreadful vigil? I could not hear a sound, not even the drawing of a breath, and yet I knew that my companion sat open-eyed, within a few feet of me, in the same state of nervous tension in which I was myself. The shutters cut off the least ray of light, and we waited in absolute darkness.
But a girl always knows.
Sure, what is murder? Isn’t it common enough in these parts?” “It is, indeed; but it’s not for me to point out the man that is to be murdered.
Mr. Holmes always knows whatever there is to know.
In solving a problem of this sort, the grand thing is to be able to reason backwards. That.
Gone to the nearest public-house. That is the centre of country gossip. They would have told you every name, from the master to the scullery-maid.
He was once a schoolmaster in the north of England. Now, there is no one more easy to trace than a schoolmaster. There are scholastic agencies by which one may identify any man who has been in the profession.
But I abhor the dull routine of existence. I crave for mental exaltation. That is why I have chosen my own particular profession, – or rather created it, for I am the only one in the world.
Nuestras ideas deben ser tan amplias como la naturaleza si aspiran a interpretarla.
Nada hay nuevo bajo el sol... Cada acto o cada cosa tiene un precedente en el pasado.
I ought to know by this time that when a fact appears to be opposed to a long train of deductions, it invariably proves to be capable of bearing some other interpretation.
And that was how a great scandal threatened to affect the kingdom of Bohemia, and how the best plans of Mr. Sherlock Holmes were beaten by a woman’s wit. He used to make merry over the cleverness of women, but I have not heard him do it of late. And when he speaks of Irene Adler, or when he refers to her photograph, it is always under the honourable title of the woman.
There’s an east wind coming, Watson.” “I think not, Holmes. It is very warm.” “Good old Watson! You are the one fixed point in a changing age. There’s an east wind coming all the same, such a wind as never blew on England yet. It will be cold and bitter, Watson and a good many of us may wither before its blast. But it’s God’s own wind none the less, and a cleaner, better, stronger land will lie in the sunshine when the storm has cleared.
But a sportin’ risk, young fellah, that’s the salt of existence. Then it’s worth livin’ again. We’re all gettin’ a deal too soft and dull and comfy. Give me the great waste lands and the wide spaces, with a gun in my fist and somethin’ to look for that’s worth findin’.
I owe you both my thanks and an apology. It was an unjustifiable experiment even for one’s self, and doubly so for a friend. I am really very sorry.
There is nothing new under the sun. It has been done before.’ As.
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.
Well,” said I, “you call that love, Mr. Carruthers, but I should call it selfishness.” “Maybe the two things go together.
Are you well up in your Jean Paul?
You mean the retired sergeant of Marines,” said Sherlock Holmes.