A study in scarlet
across his knee. Sometimes the chords were sonorous and
melancholy. Occasionally they were fantastic and cheerful. Clearly they
reflected the thoughts which possessed him, but whether the music aided those
thoughts, or whether the playing was simply the result of a whim or fancy was
more than I could determine. I might have rebelled against these exasperating
solos had it not been that he usually terminated them by playing in quick
succession a whole series of my favourite airs as a slight compensation for the
trial upon my patience.
During the first week or so we had no callers, and I had
begun to think that my companion was as friendless a man as I was myself.
Presently, however, I found that he had many acquaintances, and those in the
most different classes of society. There was one little sallow rat-faced,
dark-eyed fellow who was introduced to me as Mr. Lestrade, and who came three
or four times in a single week. One morning a young girl called, fashionably
dressed, and stayed for half an hour or more. The same afternoon brought a
grey-headed, seedy visitor, looking like a Jew pedlar, who appeared to me to be
much excited, and who was closely followed by a slip-shod elderly woman. On
another occasion an old white-haired gentleman had an interview with my
companion; and on another a railway porter in his velveteen uniform. When any
of these nondescript individuals put in an appearance, Sherlock Holmes used to
beg for the use of the sitting-room, and I would retire to my bed-room. He
always apologized to me for putting me to this inconvenience. "I have to
use this room as a place of business," he said, "and these people are
my clients." Again I had an opportunity of asking him a point blank
question, and again my delicacy prevented me from forcing another man to
confide in me. I imagined at the time that he had some strong reason for not
alluding to it, but he soon dispelled the idea by coming round to the subject
of his own accord.
It was upon the 4th of March, as I have good reason to
remember, that I rose somewhat earlier than usual, and found that Sherlock
Holmes had not yet finished his breakfast. The landlady had become so
accustomed to my late habits that my place had not been laid nor my coffee prepared.
With the unreasonable petulance of mankind I rang the bell and gave a curt
intimation that I was ready. Then I picked up a magazine from the table and
attempted to while away the time with it, while my companion munched silently
at his toast. One of the articles had a pencil mark at the heading, and I
naturally began to run my eye through it.