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Chapter1.Mr.SherlockHolmes

Mr.SherlockHolmes,whowasusuallyverylateinthemornings,saveuponthosenotinfrequentoccasionswhenhewasupallnight,wasseatedatthebreakfasttable.Istooduponthehearth-rugandpickedupthestickwhichourvisitorhadleftbehindhimthenightbefore.Itwasafine,thickpieceofwood,bulbous-headed,ofthesortwhichisknownasa“Penanglawyer.”Justundertheheadwasabroadsilverbandnearlyaninchacross.“ToJamesMortimer,M.R.C.S.,fromhisfriendsoftheC.C.H.,”wasengraveduponit,withthedate“.”Itwasjustsuchastickastheold-fashionedfamilypractitionerusedtocarry—dignified,solid,andreassuring.“Well,Watson,whatdoyoumakeofit?”Holmeswassittingwithhisbacktome,andIhadgivenhimnosignofmyoccupation.“HowdidyouknowwhatIwasdoing?Ibelieveyouhaveeyesinthebackofyourhead.”“Ihave,atleast,awell-polished,silver-platedcoffee-potinfrontofme,”saidhe.“But,tellme,Watson,whatdoyoumakeofourvisitor’sstick?Sincewehavebeensounfortunateastomisshimandhavenonotionofhiserrand,thisaccidentalsouvenirbe


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