The Confidential Casebook of Sherlock Holmes Read Online Free Page B

had also become adjusted to being ordered to drop whatever I was doing and accompany him on investigations. “Come, Watson,” he would bellow into my room, “the game’s afoot!”
    With very little to otherwise occupy me in my retirement, I was excited at the prospect of what might lie ahead on occasions such as that which had taken us to Stoke Moran in April of 1883. It was the notes of this singular case, which I had tentatively titled “The Adventure of the Speckled Band,” that I was reviewing a few days after our return to Baker Street when Holmes came into my room carrying the afternoon post.
    â€œThese items are for you,” he said as he dropped a pair of envelopes on my desk.
    Until that moment I had accepted without uttering a protest his proprietary attitude toward every envelope and parcel that was delivered to our mutual address by postmen, telegram delivery boys and messengers. Not an item addressed to me passed into my hands without first having been subjected to examination of its exterior by him without remonstrance from me. Consequently, the afternoon following our return from Stoke Moran as I was still feeling unsettled by that horrifying experience, I at last marshalled the nerve to vent my long-simmering irritation at his noisome behaviour.
    â€œWhy, Watson,” he declared in a wounded tone as he fixed me with a look of bewilderment, “I had no idea you could become so upset over such a trifling matter. You know my methods. I simply presumed that you, a man of science, instinctively appreciated I was simply honing my powers of reasoning based on observation. I assure you that there is nothing so instructive and potentially valuable to the criminal investigator as handwriting, postage stamps and inks employed for postmarks. Have you any concept of all that may be detected about senders of items in the way in which they addresstheir correspondence? Was it addressed in a hurry? What of the stationery? Volumes of information may be unearthed from a simple letter without opening it!”
    Only partly assuaged, I grumbled, “I have no doubt you’ll be writing a monograph on the subject!”
    Taking a pipe from the rack atop the mantle, he exclaimed, “I shall indeed. To date I have catalogued no fewer than fourteen kinds of ink used by the Royal Mail and nearly a hundred watermarks of paper manufacturers in England, as well as more than a score from the United States. For example, in the past year you have received eight letters on stationery made in San Francisco. This led me to deduce that a very close relative of yours is a resident of that city and, I am sorry to say, may recently have suffered a serious setback, probably in relation to his health.”
    â€œYou are right about the nature of the letters. They concern my brother. He is very ill and the sickness has left him and his wife nearly penniless.”
    He placed a consoling hand upon my shoulder. “I am deeply sorry, my friend. If there is anything I can do to help, you need only ask.”
    â€œThank you. I’m sorry for losing my temper.”
    â€œYou did warn me at the time we were discussing our sharing lodgings that you kept a bull pup. Were I you, my friend, I’d have lost my temper over me and my methods long ago. It’s I who should be apologetic.”
    â€œBut how could you have known any of this about my brother without opening the letters? I don’t believe I ever mentioned to you that I have a brother.”
    â€œNo, you didn’t. As to my deductions, the writing on the first five envelopes was obviously masculine. They were addressed ‘John Watson,’ neither a ‘Mister’ nor a ‘Dr. John H. Watson,” a familiarity suggesting a family connection. The latter missives were from the same city in the United States but in a feminine hand which addressed you as ‘Dr.’ From this I deduced that your female correspondenthad to