minnbanya/nlp-a2-sherlock · Datasets at Hugging Face

text stringlengths 0 88
“Oh, the cause is excellent!”

“Then I am your man.”

“I was sure that I might rely on you.”

“But what is it you wish?”

“When Mrs. Turner has brought in the tray I will make it clear to you.
Now,” he said as he turned hungrily on the simple fare that our
landlady had provided, “I must discuss it while I eat, for I have not
much time. It is nearly five now. In two hours we must be on the scene
of action. Miss Irene, or Madame, rather, returns from her drive at
seven. We must be at Briony Lodge to meet her.”

“And what then?”

“You must leave that to me. I have already arranged what is to occur.
There is only one point on which I must insist. You must not interfere,
come what may. You understand?”

“I am to be neutral?”

“To do nothing whatever. There will probably be some small
unpleasantness. Do not join in it. It will end in my being conveyed
into the house. Four or five minutes afterwards the sitting-room window
will open. You are to station yourself close to that open window.”

“Yes.”

“You are to watch me, for I will be visible to you.”

“Yes.”

“And when I raise my hand—so—you will throw into the room what I give
you to throw, and will, at the same time, raise the cry of fire. You
quite follow me?”

“Entirely.”

“It is nothing very formidable,” he said, taking a long cigar-shaped
roll from his pocket. “It is an ordinary plumber’s smoke-rocket, fitted
with a cap at either end to make it self-lighting. Your task is
confined to that. When you raise your cry of fire, it will be taken up
by quite a number of people. You may then walk to the end of the
street, and I will rejoin you in ten minutes. I hope that I have made
myself clear?”

“I am to remain neutral, to get near the window, to watch you, and at
the signal to throw in this object, then to raise the cry of fire, and
to wait you at the corner of the street.”

“Precisely.”

“Then you may entirely rely on me.”

“That is excellent. I think, perhaps, it is almost time that I prepare
for the new role I have to play.”

He disappeared into his bedroom and returned in a few minutes in the
character of an amiable and simple-minded Nonconformist clergyman. His
broad black hat, his baggy trousers, his white tie, his sympathetic
smile, and general look of peering and benevolent curiosity were such
as Mr. John Hare alone could have equalled. It was not merely that
Holmes changed his costume. His expression, his manner, his very soul
seemed to vary with every fresh part that he assumed. The stage lost a
fine actor, even as science lost an acute reasoner, when he became a
specialist in crime.

It was a quarter past six when we left Baker Street, and it still
wanted ten minutes to the hour when we found ourselves in Serpentine
Avenue. It was already dusk, and the lamps were just being lighted as
we paced up and down in front of Briony Lodge, waiting for the coming
of its occupant. The house was just such as I had pictured it from
Sherlock Holmes’ succinct description, but the locality appeared to be
less private than I expected. On the contrary, for a small street in a
quiet neighbourhood, it was remarkably animated. There was a group of
shabbily dressed men smoking and laughing in a corner, a
scissors-grinder with his wheel, two guardsmen who were flirting with a
nurse-girl, and several well-dressed young men who were lounging up and
down with cigars in their mouths.

“You see,” remarked Holmes, as we paced to and fro in front of the
house, “this marriage rather simplifies matters. The photograph becomes
a double-edged weapon now. The chances are that she would be as averse
to its being seen by Mr. Godfrey Norton, as our client is to its coming
to the eyes of his princess. Now the question is, Where are we to find
the photograph?”

“Where, indeed?”

“It is most unlikely that she carries it about with her. It is cabinet
size. Too large for easy concealment about a woman’s dress. She knows
that the King is capable of having her waylaid and searched. Two
attempts of the sort have already been made. We may take it, then, that
she does not carry it about with her.”

“Where, then?”

“Her banker or her lawyer. There is that double possibility. But I am

“Oh, the cause is excellent!”

“Then I am your man.”

“I was sure that I might rely on you.”

“But what is it you wish?”

“When Mrs. Turner has brought in the tray I will make it clear to you.

Now,” he said as he turned hungrily on the simple fare that our

landlady had provided, “I must discuss it while I eat, for I have not

much time. It is nearly five now. In two hours we must be on the scene

of action. Miss Irene, or Madame, rather, returns from her drive at

seven. We must be at Briony Lodge to meet her.”

“And what then?”

“You must leave that to me. I have already arranged what is to occur.

There is only one point on which I must insist. You must not interfere,

come what may. You understand?”

“I am to be neutral?”

“To do nothing whatever. There will probably be some small

unpleasantness. Do not join in it. It will end in my being conveyed

into the house. Four or five minutes afterwards the sitting-room window

will open. You are to station yourself close to that open window.”

“Yes.”

“You are to watch me, for I will be visible to you.”

“Yes.”

“And when I raise my hand—so—you will throw into the room what I give

you to throw, and will, at the same time, raise the cry of fire. You

quite follow me?”

“Entirely.”

“It is nothing very formidable,” he said, taking a long cigar-shaped

roll from his pocket. “It is an ordinary plumber’s smoke-rocket, fitted

with a cap at either end to make it self-lighting. Your task is

confined to that. When you raise your cry of fire, it will be taken up

by quite a number of people. You may then walk to the end of the

street, and I will rejoin you in ten minutes. I hope that I have made

myself clear?”

“I am to remain neutral, to get near the window, to watch you, and at

the signal to throw in this object, then to raise the cry of fire, and

to wait you at the corner of the street.”

“Precisely.”

“Then you may entirely rely on me.”

“That is excellent. I think, perhaps, it is almost time that I prepare

for the new role I have to play.”

He disappeared into his bedroom and returned in a few minutes in the

character of an amiable and simple-minded Nonconformist clergyman. His

broad black hat, his baggy trousers, his white tie, his sympathetic

smile, and general look of peering and benevolent curiosity were such

as Mr. John Hare alone could have equalled. It was not merely that

Holmes changed his costume. His expression, his manner, his very soul

seemed to vary with every fresh part that he assumed. The stage lost a

fine actor, even as science lost an acute reasoner, when he became a

specialist in crime.

It was a quarter past six when we left Baker Street, and it still

wanted ten minutes to the hour when we found ourselves in Serpentine

Avenue. It was already dusk, and the lamps were just being lighted as

we paced up and down in front of Briony Lodge, waiting for the coming

of its occupant. The house was just such as I had pictured it from

Sherlock Holmes’ succinct description, but the locality appeared to be

less private than I expected. On the contrary, for a small street in a

quiet neighbourhood, it was remarkably animated. There was a group of

shabbily dressed men smoking and laughing in a corner, a

scissors-grinder with his wheel, two guardsmen who were flirting with a

nurse-girl, and several well-dressed young men who were lounging up and

down with cigars in their mouths.

“You see,” remarked Holmes, as we paced to and fro in front of the

house, “this marriage rather simplifies matters. The photograph becomes

a double-edged weapon now. The chances are that she would be as averse

to its being seen by Mr. Godfrey Norton, as our client is to its coming

to the eyes of his princess. Now the question is, Where are we to find

the photograph?”

“Where, indeed?”

“It is most unlikely that she carries it about with her. It is cabinet

size. Too large for easy concealment about a woman’s dress. She knows

that the King is capable of having her waylaid and searched. Two

attempts of the sort have already been made. We may take it, then, that

she does not carry it about with her.”

“Where, then?”

“Her banker or her lawyer. There is that double possibility. But I am