A Study in Scarlet

  "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

  anyone, 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 to night. If you like, we shall 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, 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 further 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 hoemoglobin, {4}

  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 hoemoglobin. 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 Guiacum 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 rows 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.

  CHAPTER II.

  THE SCIENCE OF DEDUCTION.

  WE met next day as he had arranged, and inspected the rooms

  at No. 221B, {5} Baker Street, of which he had spoken at our

  meeting. They consisted of a couple of comfortable bed-rooms

  and a single large airy sitting-room, cheerfully furnished,

  and illuminated by two broad windows. So desirable in every

  way were the apartments, and so moderate did the terms seem

  when divided between us, that the bargain was concluded upon

  the spot, and we at once entered into possession. That very

  evening I moved my things round from the hotel, and on the

  following morning Sherlock Holmes followed me with several

  boxes and portmanteaus. For a day or two we were busily

  employed in unpacking and laying out our property to the best

  advantage. That done, we gradually began to settle down and

  to accommodate ourselves to our new surroundings.

  Holmes was certainly not a difficult man to live with.

  He was quiet in his ways, and his habits were regular.

  It was rare for him to be up after ten at night, and he had

  invariably breakfasted and gone out before I rose in the

  morning. Sometimes he spent his day at the chemical

  laboratory, sometimes in the dissecting-rooms, and

  occasionally in long walks, which appeared to take him into

  the lowest portions of the City. Nothing could exceed his

  energy when the working fit was upon him; but now and again

  a reaction would seize him, and for days on end he would lie

  upon the sofa in the sitting-room, hardly uttering a word or

  moving a muscle from morning to night. On these occasions

  I have noticed such a dreamy, vacant expression in his eyes,

  that I might have suspected him of being addicted to the use

  of some narcotic, had not the temperance and cleanliness of

  his whole life forbidden such a notion.

  As the weeks went by, my interest in him and my curiosity

  as to his aims in life, gradually deepened and increased.

  His very person and appearance were such as to strike the

  attention of the most casual observer. In height he was

  rather over six feet, and so excessively lean that he seemed

  to be considerably taller. His eyes were sharp and piercing,

  save during those intervals of torpor to which I have alluded;

  and his thin, hawk-like nose gave his whole expression an air

  of alertness and decision. His chin, too, had the prominence

  and squareness which mark the man of determination. His hands

  were invariably blotted with ink and stained with chemicals,

  yet he was possessed of extraordinary delicacy of touch,

  as I frequently had occasion to observe when I watched him

  manipulating his fragile philosophical instruments.

  The reader may set me down as a hopeless busybody,

  when I confess how much this man stimulated my curiosity,

  and how often I endeavoured to break through the reticence

  which he showed on all that concerned himself. Before

  pronouncing judgment, however, be it remembered, how objectless

  was my life, and how little there was to engage my attention.

  My health forbade me from venturing out unless the weather

  was exceptionally genial, and I had no friends who would call

  upon me and break the monotony of my daily existence.

  Under these circumstances, I eagerly hailed the little mystery

  which hung around my companion, and spent much of my time in

  endeavouring to unravel it.

  He was not studying medicine. He had himself, in reply

  to a question, confirmed Stamford's opinion upon that point.

  Neither did he appear to have pursued any course of reading

  w
hich might fit him for a degree in science or any other

  recognized portal which would give him an entrance into the

  learned world. Yet 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. Surely no man would work so hard or

  attain such precise information unless he had some definite

  end in view. Desultory readers are seldom remarkable for the

  exactness of their learning. No man burdens his mind with

  small matters unless he has some very good reason for doing so.

  His ignorance was as remarkable as his knowledge.

  Of contemporary literature, philosophy and politics he appeared

  to know next to nothing. Upon my quoting Thomas Carlyle,

  he inquired in the naivest way who he might be and what he had

  done. My surprise reached a climax, however, when I found

  incidentally that he was ignorant of the Copernican Theory

  and of the composition of the Solar System. That any

  civilized human being in this nineteenth century should not

  be aware that the earth travelled round the sun appeared to

  be to me such an extraordinary fact that I could hardly

  realize it.

  "You appear to be astonished," he said, smiling at my

  expression of surprise. "Now that I do know it I shall do my

  best to forget it."

  "To forget it!"

  "You see," he explained, "I consider that a man's brain

  originally is like a little empty attic, and you have to

  stock it with such furniture as you choose. A fool takes in

  all the lumber of every sort that he comes across, so that

  the knowledge which might be useful to him gets crowded out,

  or at best is jumbled up with a lot of other things so that

  he has a difficulty in laying his hands upon it. Now the

  skilful workman is very careful indeed as to what he takes

  into his brain-attic. He will have nothing but the tools

  which may help him in doing his work, but of these he has

  a large assortment, and all in the most perfect order.

  It is a mistake to think that that little room has elastic

  walls and can distend to any extent. Depend upon it there comes

  a time when for every addition of knowledge you forget something

  that you knew before. It is of the highest importance, therefore,

  not to have useless facts elbowing out the useful ones."

  "But the Solar System!" I protested.

  "What the deuce is it to me?" he interrupted impatiently;

  "you say that we go round the sun. If we went round the moon it

  would not make a pennyworth of difference to me or to my work."

  I was on the point of asking him what that work might be,

  but something in his manner showed me that the question would

  be an unwelcome one. I pondered over our short conversation,

  however, and endeavoured to draw my deductions from it.

  He said that he would acquire no knowledge which did not bear

  upon his object. Therefore all the knowledge which he

  possessed was such as would be useful to him. I enumerated

  in my own mind all the various points upon which he had shown

  me that he was exceptionally well-informed. I even took a

  pencil and jotted them down. I could not help smiling at the

  document when I had completed it. It ran in this way --

  SHERLOCK HOLMES -- his limits.

  1. Knowledge of Literature. -- Nil.

  2. Philosophy. -- Nil.

  3. Astronomy. -- Nil.

  4. Politics. -- Feeble.

  5. Botany. -- Variable. Well up in belladonna,

  opium, and poisons generally.

  Knows nothing of practical gardening.