Sherlock Holmes - Character Illustrations
18/08/09 14:09 Filed in: Character Illustrations
He was a man of habits, narrow and concentrated habits, and I had become one of them. As an institution I was like the violin, the shag tobacco, the old black pipe, the index books, and others perhaps less excusable. When it was a case of active work and a comrade was needed upon whose nerve he could place some reliance, my role was obvious. But apart from this I had uses. I was a whetstone for his mind. I stimulated him. He liked to think aloud in my presence. His remarks could hardly be said to be made to me — many of them would have been as appropriately addressed to his bedstead — but none the less, having formed the habit, it had become in some way helpful that I should register and interject. If I irritated him by a certain methodical slowness in my mentality, that irritation served only to make his own flame-like intuitions and impressions flash up the more vividly and swiftly. Such was my humble role in our alliance.
I found him huddled up in his armchair with updrawn knees, his pipe in his mouth and his brow furrowed with thought. It was clear that he was in the throes of some vexatious problem. With a wave of his hand he indicated my old armchair, but otherwise for half an hour he gave no sign that he was aware of my presence. Then with a start he seemed to come from his reverie, and with his usual whimsical smile he greeted me back to what had once been my home.
“You are certainly an admirable witness,” said Holmes. “I may need some of these dates which you have noted.”
Mr. Bennett spoke in a tone of reproach, for it was very clear that Holmes was not listening. His face was rigid and his eyes gazed abstractedly at the ceiling. With an effort he recovered himself.
“Singular! Most singular!” he murmured. “These details were new to me, Mr. Bennett.”
“Good, Watson! You always keep us flat-footed on the ground.”
“Too clear!” said Holmes. “That was my miscalculation. It is evident that his memory is much more reliable than I had thought.”
Holmes paused and suddenly clapped his hand to his forehead. “Oh, Watson, Watson, what a fool I have been! It seems incredible, and yet it must be true. All points in one direction. How could I miss seeing the connection of ideas? It’s surely time that I disappeared into that little farm of my dreams."
“I think it may be quite possible to keep the matter to ourselves, and also to prevent its recurrence now that we have a free hand.”
He sat musing for a little with the phial in his hand, looking at the clear liquid within. “When I have written to this man and told him that I hold him criminally responsible for the poisons which he circulates, we will have no more trouble.”
Suddenly the dreamer disappeared, and Holmes, the man of action, sprang from his chair.
“You are certainly an admirable witness,” said Holmes. “I may need some of these dates which you have noted.”
Mr. Bennett spoke in a tone of reproach, for it was very clear that Holmes was not listening. His face was rigid and his eyes gazed abstractedly at the ceiling. With an effort he recovered himself.
“Singular! Most singular!” he murmured. “These details were new to me, Mr. Bennett.”
“Good, Watson! You always keep us flat-footed on the ground.”
“Too clear!” said Holmes. “That was my miscalculation. It is evident that his memory is much more reliable than I had thought.”
Holmes paused and suddenly clapped his hand to his forehead. “Oh, Watson, Watson, what a fool I have been! It seems incredible, and yet it must be true. All points in one direction. How could I miss seeing the connection of ideas? It’s surely time that I disappeared into that little farm of my dreams."
“I think it may be quite possible to keep the matter to ourselves, and also to prevent its recurrence now that we have a free hand.”
He sat musing for a little with the phial in his hand, looking at the clear liquid within. “When I have written to this man and told him that I hold him criminally responsible for the poisons which he circulates, we will have no more trouble.”
Suddenly the dreamer disappeared, and Holmes, the man of action, sprang from his chair.