The Adventure of the Plated Spoon and Other Tales of Sherlock Holmes Read Online Free

is missing, Watson?”
    â€œThe large scalpel.”
    â€œThe postmortem knife,” said Holmes, nodding and whipping out his lens. “And now, what does this case tell us?” As he examined the case and its contents closely, he went on. “To begin with the obvious, these instruments belonged to a medical man who came upon hard times.” Obliged, as usual, to confess my blindness, I said, “I am afraid that is more obvious to you than to me.”
    Preoccupied with his inspection, Holmes replied absently, “If you should fall victim to misfortune, Watson, which would be the last of your possessions to reach the pawnbroker’s shop?”
    â€œMy medical instruments, of course. But—”
    â€œPrecisely.”
    â€œWherein do you perceive that this case was pledged?”
    â€œThere is double proof. Observe, just there, through my lens.” I peered at the spot he indicated. “A white smudge.”
    â€œSilver polish. No surgeon would cleanse his instruments with such a substance. These have been treated like common cutlery by someone concerned only with their appearance.”
    â€œNow that you point it out, Holmes, I must agree. And what is your second proof?”
    â€œThese chalk marks along the spine of the case. They are almost worn away, but if you will examine them closely, you will see that they constitute a number. Such a number as a pawnbroker would chalk upon a pledged article. Obviously, the counterpart of the number upon the pawn-ticket.”
    I felt the choler rising to my face. It was all too evident to me now.
    â€œThen the kit was stolen!” I exclaimed. “Stolen from some surgeon, and disposed of, for a pittance, in a pawnshop!” My readers will forgive my indignation, I am sure; it was difficult for me to accept the alternative—that the practitioner would have parted with the instruments of a noble calling under even the most grievous circumstances.
    Holmes, however, soon disillusioned me. “I fear, my dear Watson,” said he, quite cheerfully, “that you do not perceive the finer aspects of the evidence. Pawnbrokers are a canny breed. It is part of their stock-in-trade not only to appraise the articles brought to them for pledge, but the persons offering them as well. Had the broker who dispensed his largesse for this surgical case entertained the slightest suspicion that it had been stolen, he would not have displayed it in his shop window, as of course you observe he has done.”
    â€œAs of course I do not!” said I, testily. “How can you possibly know that the case has been displayed in a window?”
    â€œLook closely,” said Holmes. “The case lay open in a place exposed to the sun; does not the faded velvet on the inner surface of the lid tell us that? Moreover, the pronounced character of the fading marks the time span as an appreciable one. Surely this adds up to a shop window?” I could only nod. As always, when Holmes explained his astonishing observations, they appeared child’s play.
    â€œIt is a pity,” said I, “that we do not know where the pawnshop lies. This curious gift might merit a visit to its source.”
    â€œPerhaps in good time, Watson,” said Holmes, with a dry chuckle. “The pawnshop in question is well off the beaten track. It faces south, on a narrow street. The broker’s business is not flourishing. Also, he is of foreign extraction. Surely you see that?”
    â€œI see nothing of the sort!” said I, nettled again.
    â€œTo the contrary,” said he, placing his fingertips together and regarding me kindly, “you see everything, my dear Watson; what you fail to do is to observe. Let us take my conclusions in order. These instruments were not snatched up by any of the numerous medical students in the City of London, which would assuredly have been the case had the shop lain on a well-travelled thoroughfare. Hence my remark