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Title: A Study In Scarlet

Author: Arthur Conan Doyle

Posting Date: July 12, 2008 [EBook #244]

Release Date: April, 1995

Language: English

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*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A STUDY IN SCARLET ***

Produced by Roger Squires

A STUDY IN SCARLET.

By A. Conan Doyle

[1]

     Original Transcriber's Note: This etext is prepared directly

     from an 1887 edition, and care has been taken to duplicate the

     original exactly, including typographical and punctuation

     vagaries.

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     original 1887 edtion as to typography and punctuation vagaries,

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A STUDY IN SCARLET.

PART I.

(_Being a reprint from the reminiscences of_ JOHN H. WATSON, M.D., _late

of the Army Medical Department._) [2]

CHAPTER I. MR. SHERLOCK HOLMES.

IN the year 1878 I took my degree of Doctor of Medicine of the

University of London, and proceeded to Netley to go through the course

prescribed for surgeons in the army. Having completed my studies there,

I was duly attached to the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers as Assistant

Surgeon. The regiment was stationed in India at the time, and before

I could join it, the second Afghan war had broken out. On landing at

Bombay, I learned that my corps had advanced through the passes, and

was already deep in the enemy's country. I followed, however, with many

other officers who were in the same situation as myself, and succeeded

in reaching Candahar in safety, where I found my regiment, and at once

entered upon my new duties.

The campaign brought honours and promotion to many, but for me it had

nothing but misfortune and disaster. I was removed from my brigade and

attached to the Berkshires, with whom I served at the fatal battle of

Maiwand. There I was struck on the shoulder by a Jezail bullet, which

shattered the bone and grazed the subclavian artery. I should have

fallen into the hands of the murderous Ghazis had it not been for the

devotion and courage shown by Murray, my orderly, who threw me across a

pack-horse, and succeeded in bringing me safely to the British lines.

Worn with pain, and weak from the prolonged hardships which I had

undergone, I was removed, with a great train of wounded sufferers, to

the base hospital at Peshawar. Here I rallied, and had already improved

so far as to be able to walk about the wards, and even to bask a little

upon the verandah, when I was struck down by enteric fever, that curse

of our Indian possessions. For months my life was despaired of, and

when at last I came to myself and became convalescent, I was so weak and

emaciated that a medical board determined that not a day should be lost

in sending me back to England. I was dispatched, accordingly, in the

troopship "Orontes," and landed a month later on Portsmouth jetty, with

my health irretrievably ruined, but with permission from a paternal

government to spend the next nine months in attempting to improve it.

I had neither kith nor kin in England, and was therefore as free as

air--or as free as an income of eleven shillings and sixpence a day will

permit a man to be. Under such circumstances, I naturally gravitated to

London, that great cesspool into which all the loungers and idlers of

the Empire are irresistibly drained. There I stayed for some time at

a private hotel in the Strand, leading a comfortless, meaningless

existence, and spending such money as I had, considerably more freely

than I ought. So alarming did the state of my finances become, that

I soon realized that I must either leave the metropolis and rusticate

somewhere in the country, or that I must make a complete alteration in

my style of living. Choosing the latter alternative, I began by making

up my mind to leave the hotel, and to take up my quarters in some less

pretentious and less expensive domicile.

On the very day that I had come to this conclusion, I was standing at

the Criterion Bar, when some one tapped me on the shoulder, and turning

round I recognized young Stamford, who had been a dresser under me at

Barts. The sight of a friendly face in the great wilderness of London is

a pleasant thing indeed to a lonely man. In old days Stamford had never

been a particular crony of mine, but now I hailed him with enthusiasm,

and he, in his turn, appeared to be delighted to see me. In the

exuberance of my joy, I asked him to lunch with me at the Holborn, and

we started off together in a hansom.

"Whatever have you been doing with yourself, Watson?" he asked in

undisguised wonder, as we rattled through the crowded London streets.

"You are as thin as a lath and as brown as a nut."

I gave him a short sketch of my adventures, and had hardly concluded it

by the time that we reached our destination.

"Poor devil!" he said, commiseratingly, after he had listened to my

misfortunes. "What are you up to now?"

"Looking for lodgings." [3] I answered. "Trying to solve the problem

as to whether it is possible to get comfortable rooms at a reasonable

price."

"That's a strange thing," remarked my companion; "you are the second man

to-day that has used that expression to me."

"And who was the first?" I asked.

"A fellow who is working at the chemical laboratory up at the hospital.

He was bemoaning himself this morning because he could not get someone

to go halves with him in some nice rooms which he had found, and which

were too much for his purse."

"By Jove!" I cried, "if he really wants someone to share the rooms and

the expense, I am the very man for him. I should prefer having a partner

to being alone."

Young Stamford looked rather strangely at me over his wine-glass. "You

don't know Sherlock Holmes yet," he said; "perhaps you would not care

for him as a constant companion."

"Why, what is there against him?"

"Oh, I didn't say there was anything against him. He is a little queer

in his ideas--an enthusiast in some branches of science. As far as I

know he is a decent fellow enough."

"A medical student, I suppose?" said I.

"No--I have no idea what he intends to go in for. I believe he is well

up in anatomy, and he is a first-class chemist; but, as far as I know,

he has never taken out any systematic medical classes. His studies are

very desultory and eccentric, but he has amassed a lot of out-of-the way

knowledge which would astonish his professors."

"Did you never ask him what he was going in for?" I asked.

"No; he is not a man that it is easy to draw out, though he can be

communicative enough when the fancy seizes him."

"I should like to meet him," I said. "If I am to lodge with anyone, I

should prefer a man of studious and quiet habits. I am not strong

enough yet to stand much noise or excitement. I had enough of both in

Afghanistan to last me for the remainder of my natural existence. How

could I meet this friend of yours?"

"He is sure to be at the laboratory," returned my companion. "He either

avoids the place for weeks, or else he works there from morning to

night. If you like, we shall drive round together after luncheon."

"Certainly," I answered, and the conversation drifted away into other

channels.

As we made our way to the hospital after leaving the Holborn, Stamford

gave me a few more particulars about the gentleman whom I proposed to

take as a fellow-lodger.

"You mustn't blame me if you don't get on with him," he said; "I know

nothing more of him than I have learned from meeting him occasionally in

the laboratory. You proposed this arrangement, so you must not hold me

responsible."

"If we don't get on it will be easy to part company," I answered. "It

seems to me, Stamford," I added, looking hard at my companion, "that you

have some reason for washing your hands of the matter. Is this fellow's

temper so formidable, or what is it? Don't be mealy-mouthed about it."

"It is not easy to express the inexpressible," he answered with a laugh.

"Holmes is a little too scientific for my tastes--it approaches to

cold-bloodedness. I could imagine his giving a friend a little pinch of

the latest vegetable alkaloid, not out of malevolence, you understand,

but simply out of a spirit of inquiry in order to have an accurate idea

of the effects. To do him justice, I think that he would take it himself

with the same readiness. He appears to have a passion for definite and

exact knowledge."

"Very right too."

"Yes, but it may be pushed to excess. When it comes to beating the

subjects in the dissecting-rooms with a stick, it is certainly taking

rather a bizarre shape."

"Beating the subjects!"

"Yes, to verify how far bruises may be produced after death. I saw him

at it with my own eyes."

"And yet you say he is not a medical student?"

"No. Heaven knows what the objects of his studies are. But here we

are, and you must form your own impressions about him." As he spoke, we

turned down a narrow lane and passed through a small side-door, which

opened into a wing of the great hospital. It was familiar ground to me,

and I needed no guiding as we ascended the bleak stone staircase and

made our way down the long corridor with its vista of whitewashed

wall and dun-coloured doors. Near the further end a low arched passage

branched away from it and led to the chemical laboratory.

This was a lofty chamber, lined and littered with countless bottles.

Broad, low tables were scattered about, which bristled with retorts,

test-tubes, and little Bunsen lamps, with their blue flickering flames.

There was only one student in the room, who was bending over a distant

table absorbed in his work. At the sound of our steps he glanced round

and sprang to his feet with a cry of pleasure. "I've found it! I've

found it," he shouted to my companion, running towards us with a

test-tube in his hand. "I have found a re-agent which is precipitated

by hoemoglobin, [4] and by nothing else." Had he discovered a gold mine,

greater delight could not have shone upon his features.

"Dr. Watson, Mr. Sherlock Holmes," said Stamford, introducing us.

"How are you?" he said cordially, gripping my hand with a strength

for which I should hardly have given him credit. "You have been in

Afghanistan, I perceive."

"How on earth did you know that?" I asked in astonishment.

"Never mind," said he, chuckling to himself. "The question now is about

hoemoglobin. No doubt you see the significance of this discovery of

mine?"

"It is interesting, chemically, no doubt," I answered, "but

practically----"

"Why, man, it is the most practical medico-legal discovery for years.

Don't you see that it gives us an infallible test for blood stains. Come

over here now!" He seized me by the coat-sleeve in his eagerness, and

drew me over to the table at which he had been working. "Let us have

some fresh blood," he said, digging a long bodkin into his finger, and

drawing off the resulting drop of blood in a chemical pipette. "Now, I

add this small quantity of blood to a litre of water. You perceive that

the resulting mixture has the appearance of pure water. The proportion

of blood cannot be more than one in a million. I have no doubt, however,

that we shall be able to obtain the characteristic reaction." As he

spoke, he threw into the vessel a few white crystals, and then added

some drops of a transparent fluid. In an instant the contents assumed a

dull mahogany colour, and a brownish dust was precipitated to the bottom

of the glass jar.

"Ha! ha!" he cried, clapping his hands, and looking as delighted as a

child with a new toy. "What do you think of that?"

"It seems to be a very delicate test," I remarked.

"Beautiful! beautiful! The old Guiacum test was very clumsy and

uncertain. So is the microscopic examination for blood corpuscles. The

latter is valueless if the stains are a few hours old. Now, this appears

to act as well whether the blood is old or new. Had this test been

invented, there are hundreds of men now walking the earth who would long

ago have paid the penalty of their crimes."

"Indeed!" I murmured.

"Criminal cases are continually hinging upon that one point. A man is

suspected of a crime months perhaps after it has been committed. His

linen or clothes are examined, and brownish stains discovered upon them.

Are they blood stains, or mud stains, or rust stains, or fruit stains,

or what are they? That is a question which has puzzled many an expert,

and why? Because there was no reliable test. Now we have the Sherlock

Holmes' test, and there will no longer be any difficulty."

His eyes fairly glittered as he spoke, and he put his hand over his

heart and bowed as if to some applauding crowd conjured up by his

imagination.

"You are to be congratulated," I remarked, considerably surprised at his

enthusiasm.

"There was the case of Von Bischoff at Frankfort last year. He would

certainly have been hung had this test been in existence. Then there was

Mason of Bradford, and the notorious Muller, and Lefevre of Montpellier,

and Samson of new Orleans. I could name a score of cases in which it

would have been decisive."

"You seem to be a walking calendar of crime," said Stamford with a

laugh. "You might start a paper on those lines. Call it the 'Police News

of the Past.'"

"Very interesting reading it might be made, too," remarked Sherlock

Holmes, sticking a small piece of plaster over the prick on his finger.

"I have to be careful," he continued, turning to me with a smile, "for I

dabble with poisons a good deal." He held out his hand as he spoke, and

I noticed that it was all mottled over with similar pieces of plaster,

and discoloured with strong acids.

"We came here on business," said Stamford, sitting down on a high

three-legged stool, and pushing another one in my direction with

his foot. "My friend here wants to take diggings, and as you were

complaining that you could get no one to go halves with you, I thought

that I had better bring you together."

Sherlock Holmes seemed delighted at the idea of sharing his rooms with

me. "I have my eye on a suite in Baker Street," he said, "which would

suit us down to the ground. You don't mind the smell of strong tobacco,

I hope?"

"I always smoke 'ship's' myself," I answered.

"That's good enough. I generally have chemicals about, and occasionally

do experiments. Would that annoy you?"

"By no means."

"Let me see--what are my other shortcomings. I get in the dumps at

times, and don't open my mouth for days on end. You must not think I am

sulky when I do that. Just let me alone, and I'll soon be right. What

have you to confess now? It's just as well for two fellows to know the

worst of one another before they begin to live together."

I laughed at this cross-examination. "I keep a bull pup," I said, "and

I object to rows because my nerves are shaken, and I get up at all sorts

of ungodly hours, and I am extremely lazy. I have another set of vices

when I'm well, but those are the principal ones at present."

"Do you include violin-playing in your category of rows?" he asked,

anxiously.

"It depends on the player," I answered. "A well-played violin is a treat

for the gods--a badly-played one----"

"Oh, that's all right," he cried, with a merry laugh. "I think we may

consider the thing as settled--that is, if the rooms are agreeable to

you."

"When shall we see them?"

"Call for me here at noon to-morrow, and we'll go together and settle

everything," he answered.

"All right--noon exactly," said I, shaking his hand.

We left him working among his chemicals, and we walked together towards

my hotel.

"By the way," I asked suddenly, stopping and turning upon Stamford, "how

the deuce did he know that I had come from Afghanistan?"

My companion smiled an enigmatical smile. "That's just his little

peculiarity," he said. "A good many people have wanted to know how he

finds things out."

"Oh! a mystery is it?" I cried, rubbing my hands. "This is very piquant.

I am much obliged to you for bringing us together. 'The proper study of

mankind is man,' you know."

"You must study him, then," Stamford said, as he bade me good-bye.

"You'll find him a knotty problem, though. I'll wager he learns more

about you than you about him. Good-bye."

"Good-bye," I answered, and strolled on to my hotel, considerably

interested in my new acquaintance.

CHAPTER II. THE SCIENCE OF DEDUCTION.

WE met next day as he had arranged, and inspected the rooms at No. 221B,

[5] Baker Street, of which he had spoken at our meeting. They

consisted of a couple of comfortable bed-rooms and a single large

airy sitting-room, cheerfully furnished, and illuminated by two broad

windows. So desirable in every way were the apartments, and so moderate

did the terms seem when divided between us, that the bargain was

concluded upon the spot, and we at once entered into possession.

That very evening I moved my things round from the hotel, and on the

following morning Sherlock Holmes followed me with several boxes and

portmanteaus. For a day or two we were busily employed in unpacking and

laying out our property to the best advantage. That done, we

gradually began to settle down and to accommodate ourselves to our new

surroundings.

Holmes was certainly not a difficult man to live with. He was quiet

in his ways, and his habits were regular. It was rare for him to be

up after ten at night, and he had invariably breakfasted and gone out

before I rose in the morning. Sometimes he spent his day at the chemical

laboratory, sometimes in the dissecting-rooms, and occasionally in long

walks, which appeared to take him into the lowest portions of the City.

Nothing could exceed his energy when the working fit was upon him; but

now and again a reaction would seize him, and for days on end he would

lie upon the sofa in the sitting-room, hardly uttering a word or moving

a muscle from morning to night. On these occasions I have noticed such

a dreamy, vacant expression in his eyes, that I might have suspected him

of being addicted to the use of some narcotic, had not the temperance

and cleanliness of his whole life forbidden such a notion.

As the weeks went by, my interest in him and my curiosity as to his

aims in life, gradually deepened and increased. His very person and

appearance were such as to strike the attention of the most casual

observer. In height he was rather over six feet, and so excessively

lean that he seemed to be considerably taller. His eyes were sharp and

piercing, save during those intervals of torpor to which I have alluded;

and his thin, hawk-like nose gave his whole expression an air of

alertness and decision. His chin, too, had the prominence and squareness

which mark the man of determination. His hands were invariably

blotted with ink and stained with chemicals, yet he was possessed of

extraordinary delicacy of touch, as I frequently had occasion to observe

when I watched him manipulating his fragile philosophical instruments.

The reader may set me down as a hopeless busybody, when I confess how

much this man stimulated my curiosity, and how often I endeavoured

to break through the reticence which he showed on all that concerned

himself. Before pronouncing judgment, however, be it remembered, how

objectless was my life, and how little there was to engage my attention.

My health forbade me from venturing out unless the weather was

exceptionally genial, and I had no friends who would call upon me and

break the monotony of my daily existence. Under these circumstances, I

eagerly hailed the little mystery which hung around my companion, and

spent much of my time in endeavouring to unravel it.

He was not studying medicine. He had himself, in reply to a question,

confirmed Stamford's opinion upon that point. Neither did he appear to

have pursued any course of reading which might fit him for a degree in

science or any other recognized portal which would give him an entrance

into the learned world. Yet his zeal for certain studies was remarkable,

and within eccentric limits his knowledge was so extraordinarily ample

and minute that his observations have fairly astounded me. Surely no man

would work so hard or attain such precise information unless he had some

definite end in view. Desultory readers are seldom remarkable for the

exactness of their learning. No man burdens his mind with small matters

unless he has some very good reason for doing so.

His ignorance was as remarkable as his knowledge. Of contemporary

literature, philosophy and politics he appeared to know next to nothing.

Upon my quoting Thomas Carlyle, he inquired in the naivest way who he

might be and what he had done. My surprise reached a climax, however,

when I found incidentally that he was ignorant of the Copernican Theory

and of the composition of the Solar System. That any civilized human

being in this nineteenth century should not be aware that the earth

travelled round the sun appeared to be to me such an extraordinary fact

that I could hardly realize it.

"You appear to be astonished," he said, smiling at my expression of

surprise. "Now that I do know it I shall do my best to forget it."

"To forget it!"

"You see," he explained, "I consider that a man's brain originally is

like a little empty attic, and you have to stock it with such furniture

as you choose. A fool takes in all the lumber of every sort that he

comes across, so that the knowledge which might be useful to him gets

crowded out, or at best is jumbled up with a lot of other things so that

he has a difficulty in laying his hands upon it. Now the skilful workman

is very careful indeed as to what he takes into his brain-attic. He will

have nothing but the tools which may help him in doing his work, but of

these he has a large assortment, and all in the most perfect order. It

is a mistake to think that that little room has elastic walls and can

distend to any extent. Depend upon it there comes a time when for every

addition of knowledge you forget something that you knew before. It is

of the highest importance, therefore, not to have useless facts elbowing

out the useful ones."

"But the Solar System!" I protested.

"What the deuce is it to me?" he interrupted impatiently; "you say

that we go round the sun. If we went round the moon it would not make a

pennyworth of difference to me or to my work."

I was on the point of asking him what that work might be, but something

in his manner showed me that the question would be an unwelcome one. I

pondered over our short conversation, however, and endeavoured to draw

my deductions from it. He said that he would acquire no knowledge which

did not bear upon his object. Therefore all the knowledge which he

possessed was such as would be useful to him. I enumerated in my own

mind all the various points upon which he had shown me that he was

exceptionally well-informed. I even took a pencil and jotted them down.

I could not help smiling at the document when I had completed it. It ran

in this way--

SHERLOCK HOLMES--his limits.

  1. Knowledge of Literature.--Nil.

  2.              Philosophy.--Nil.

  3.              Astronomy.--Nil.

  4.              Politics.--Feeble.

  5.              Botany.--Variable.  Well up in belladonna,

                              opium, and poisons generally.

                              Knows nothing of practical gardening.

  6.              Geology.--Practical, but limited.

                               Tells at a glance different soils

                               from each other.  After walks has

                               shown me splashes upon his trousers,

                               and told me by their colour and