Erhalten Sie Zugang zu diesem und mehr als 300000 Büchern ab EUR 5,99 monatlich.
In "The Crooked Man" by Arthur Conan Doyle, Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson investigate the mysterious death of a military officer, Colonel James Barclay, found dead in his home under suspicious circumstances. The case reveals a dark secret involving betrayal, love, and a long-buried past. Holmes' sharp deductions lead to a shocking resolution tied to an old and twisted personal grudge.
Sie lesen das E-Book in den Legimi-Apps auf:
Seitenzahl: 34
Das E-Book (TTS) können Sie hören im Abo „Legimi Premium” in Legimi-Apps auf:
In "The Crooked Man" by Arthur Conan Doyle, Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson investigate the mysterious death of a military officer, Colonel James Barclay, found dead in his home under suspicious circumstances. The case reveals a dark secret involving betrayal, love, and a long-buried past. Holmes' sharp deductions lead to a shocking resolution tied to an old and twisted personal grudge.
Mystery, secrets, betrayal
This text is a work in the public domain and reflects the norms, values and perspectives of its time. Some readers may find parts of this content offensive or disturbing, given the evolution in social norms and in our collective understanding of issues of equality, human rights and mutual respect. We ask readers to approach this material with an understanding of the historical era in which it was written, recognizing that it may contain language, ideas or descriptions that are incompatible with today's ethical and moral standards.
Names from foreign languages will be preserved in their original form, with no translation.
One summer night, a few months after my marriage, I was seated by my own heart smoking a last pipe and nodding over a novel, for my day’s work had been an exhausting one. My wife had already gone upstairs, and the sound of the locking of the hall door some time before told me that the servants had also retired. I had risen from my seat and was knocking out the ashes of my pipe when I suddenly heard the clang of the bell.
I looked at the clock. It was a quarter to twelve. This could not be a visitor at so late an hour. A patient, evidently, and possibly an all-night sitting. With a wry face I went out into the hall and opened the door. To my astonishment it was Sherlock Holmes who stood upon my step.
“Ah, Watson,” said he, “I hoped that I might not be too late to catch you.”
“My dear fellow, pray come in.”
“You look surprised, and no wonder! Relieved, too, I fancy! Hum! You still smoke the Arcadia mixture of your bachelor days then! There’s no mistaking that fluffy ash upon your coat. It’s easy to tell that you have been accustomed to wear a uniform, Watson. You’ll never pass as a pure-bred civilian as long as you keep that habit of carrying your handkerchief in your sleeve. Could you put me up tonight?”
“With pleasure.”
“You told me that you had bachelor quarters for one, and I see that you have no gentleman visitor at present. Your hat-stand proclaims as much.”
“I shall be delighted if you will stay.”
“Thank you. I’ll fill the vacant peg then. Sorry to see that you’ve had the British workman in the house. He’s a token of evil. Not the drains, I hope?”
“No, the gas.”
“Ah! He has left two nail-marks from his boot upon your linoleum just where the light strikes it. No, thank you, I had some supper at Waterloo, but I’ll smoke a pipe with you with pleasure.”
I handed him my pouch, and he seated himself opposite to me and smoked for sometime in silence. I was well aware that nothing but business of importance would have brought him to me at such an hour, so I waited patiently until he should come round to it.
“I see that you are professionally rather busy just now,” said he, glancing very keenly across at me.
“Yes, I’ve had a busy day,” I answered. “It may seem very foolish in your eyes,” I added, “but really I don’t know how you deduced it.”
Holmes chuckled to himself.
“I have the advantage of knowing your habits, my dear Watson,” said he. “When your round is a short one you walk, and when it is a long one you use a hansom. As I perceive that your boots, although used, are by no means dirty, I cannot doubt that you are at present busy enough to justify the hansom.”
“Excellent!” I cried.