The Sherlock Holmes Christmas Collection. Arthur Conan Doyle

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      “‘Where are they all, Maggie?’ I cried.

      “‘Gone to the dealer’s, Jem.’

      “‘Which dealer’s?’

      “‘Breckinridge, of Covent Garden.’

      “‘But was there another with a barred tail?’ I asked, ‘the same as the one I chose?’

      “‘Yes, Jem; there were two barred-tailed ones, and I could never tell them apart.’

      “Well, then, of course I saw it all, and I ran off as hard as my feet would carry me to this man Breckinridge; but he had sold the lot at once, and not one word would he tell me as to where they had gone. You heard him yourselves to-night. Well, he has always answered me like that. My sister thinks that I am going mad. Sometimes I think that I am myself. And now—and now I am myself a branded thief, without ever having touched the wealth for which I sold my character. God help me! God help me!” He burst into convulsive sobbing, with his face buried in his hands.

      There was a long silence, broken only by his heavy breathing, and by the measured tapping of Sherlock Holmes’s finger-tips upon the edge of the table. Then my friend rose and threw open the door.

      “Get out!” said he.

      “What, sir! Oh, heaven bless you!”

      “No more words. Get out!”

      And no more words were needed. There was a rush, a clatter upon the stairs, the bang of a door, and the crisp rattle of running footfalls from the street.

      “After all, Watson,” said Holmes, reaching up his hand for his clay pipe, “I am not retained by the police to supply their deficiencies. If Horner were in danger it would be another thing; but this fellow will not appear against him, and the case must collapse. I suppose that I am commuting a felony, but it is just possible that I am saving a soul. This fellow will not go wrong again; he is too terribly frightened. Send him to jail now, and you make him a jail-bird for life. Besides, it is the season of forgiveness. Chance has put in our way a most singular and whimsical problem, and its solution is its own reward. If you will have the goodness to touch the bell, doctor, we will begin another investigation, in which, also, a bird will be the chief feature.”

      A Study in Scarlet

       Table of Contents

Table of Contents

       Part I. Being a Reprint from the Reminiscences of John H. Watson, M.D.

       I. Mr. Sherlock Holmes

       II. The Science of Deduction

       III. The Lauriston Gardens Mystery

       IV. What John Rance had to Tell

       V. Our Advertisement Brings a Visitor

       VI. Tobias Gregson Shows What He Can Do

       VII. Light in the Darkness

       Part II. The Country of the Saints

       I. On the Great Alkali Plain

       II. The Flower of Utah

       III. John Ferrier Talks with the Prophet

       IV. A Flight for Life

       V. The Avenging Angels

       VI. A Continuation of the Reminiscences of John Watson, M.D.

       VII. The Conclusion

      Part I.

       Being a Reprint from the Reminiscences of John H. Watson, M.D.,

       Late of the Army Medical Department

       Table of Contents

      I. Mr. Sherlock Holmes

       Table of Contents

      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 Kandahar 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 Peshawar. Here I rallied, and had already improved so far as to be able to walk about the wards, and even to bask СКАЧАТЬ