elapt1c/ElapticAI-255 · Datasets at Hugging Face

text stringlengths 0 149M
reasoning I am baffled until you explain your process. And yet I
believe that my eyes are as good as yours.”

“Quite so,” he answered, lighting a cigarette, and throwing himself
down into an armchair. “You see, but you do not observe. The
distinction is clear. For example, you have frequently seen the steps
which lead up from the hall to this room.”

“Frequently.”

“How often?”

“Well, some hundreds of times.”

“Then how many are there?”

“How many? I don’t know.”

“Quite so! You have not observed. And yet you have seen. That is just
my point. Now, I know that there are seventeen steps, because I have
both seen and observed. By the way, since you are interested in these
little problems, and since you are good enough to chronicle one or two
of my trifling experiences, you may be interested in this.” He threw
over a sheet of thick, pink-tinted notepaper which had been lying open
upon the table. “It came by the last post,” said he. “Read it aloud.”

The note was undated, and without either signature or address.

“There will call upon you to-night, at a quarter to eight o’clock,” it
said, “a gentleman who desires to consult you upon a matter of the very
deepest moment. Your recent services to one of the royal houses of
Europe have shown that you are one who may safely be trusted with
matters which are of an importance which can hardly be exaggerated.
This account of you we have from all quarters received. Be in your
chamber then at that hour, and do not take it amiss if your visitor
wear a mask.”

“This is indeed a mystery,” I remarked. “What do you imagine that it
means?”

“I have no data yet. It is a capital mistake to theorise before one has
data. Insensibly one begins to twist facts to suit theories, instead of
theories to suit facts. But the note itself. What do you deduce from
it?”

I carefully examined the writing, and the paper upon which it was
written.

“The man who wrote it was presumably well to do,” I remarked,
endeavouring to imitate my companion’s processes. “Such paper could not
be bought under half a crown a packet. It is peculiarly strong and
stiff.”

“Peculiar—that is the very word,” said Holmes. “It is not an English
paper at all. Hold it up to the light.”

I did so, and saw a large “E” with a small “g,” a “P,” and a large “G”
with a small “t” woven into the texture of the paper.

“What do you make of that?” asked Holmes.

“The name of the maker, no doubt; or his monogram, rather.”

“Not at all. The ‘G’ with the small ‘t’ stands for ‘Gesellschaft,’
which is the German for ‘Company.’ It is a customary contraction like
our ‘Co.’ ‘P,’ of course, stands for ‘Papier.’ Now for the ‘Eg.’ Let us
glance at our Continental Gazetteer.” He took down a heavy brown volume
from his shelves. “Eglow, Eglonitz—here we are, Egria. It is in a
German-speaking country—in Bohemia, not far from Carlsbad. ‘Remarkable
as being the scene of the death of Wallenstein, and for its numerous
glass-factories and paper-mills.’ Ha, ha, my boy, what do you make of
that?” His eyes sparkled, and he sent up a great blue triumphant cloud
from his cigarette.

“The paper was made in Bohemia,” I said.

“Precisely. And the man who wrote the note is a German. Do you note the
peculiar construction of the sentence—‘This account of you we have from
all quarters received.’ A Frenchman or Russian could not have written
that. It is the German who is so uncourteous to his verbs. It only
remains, therefore, to discover what is wanted by this German who
writes upon Bohemian paper and prefers wearing a mask to showing his
face. And here he comes, if I am not mistaken, to resolve all our
doubts.”

As he spoke there was the sharp sound of horses’ hoofs and grating
wheels against the curb, followed by a sharp pull at the bell. Holmes
whistled.

“A pair, by the sound,” said he. “Yes,” he continued, glancing out of
the window. “A nice little brougham and a pair of beauties. A hundred
and fifty guineas apiece. There’s money in this case, Watson, if there
is nothing else.”

“I think that I had better go, Holmes.”

“Not a bit, Doctor. Stay where you are. I am lost without my Boswell.
And this promises to be interesting. It would be a pity to miss it.”

“But your client—”

reasoning I am baffled until you explain your process. And yet I

believe that my eyes are as good as yours.”

“Quite so,” he answered, lighting a cigarette, and throwing himself

down into an armchair. “You see, but you do not observe. The

distinction is clear. For example, you have frequently seen the steps

which lead up from the hall to this room.”

“Frequently.”

“How often?”

“Well, some hundreds of times.”

“Then how many are there?”

“How many? I don’t know.”

“Quite so! You have not observed. And yet you have seen. That is just

my point. Now, I know that there are seventeen steps, because I have

both seen and observed. By the way, since you are interested in these

little problems, and since you are good enough to chronicle one or two

of my trifling experiences, you may be interested in this.” He threw

over a sheet of thick, pink-tinted notepaper which had been lying open

upon the table. “It came by the last post,” said he. “Read it aloud.”

The note was undated, and without either signature or address.

“There will call upon you to-night, at a quarter to eight o’clock,” it

said, “a gentleman who desires to consult you upon a matter of the very

deepest moment. Your recent services to one of the royal houses of

Europe have shown that you are one who may safely be trusted with

matters which are of an importance which can hardly be exaggerated.

This account of you we have from all quarters received. Be in your

chamber then at that hour, and do not take it amiss if your visitor

wear a mask.”

“This is indeed a mystery,” I remarked. “What do you imagine that it

means?”

“I have no data yet. It is a capital mistake to theorise before one has

data. Insensibly one begins to twist facts to suit theories, instead of

theories to suit facts. But the note itself. What do you deduce from

it?”

I carefully examined the writing, and the paper upon which it was

written.

“The man who wrote it was presumably well to do,” I remarked,

endeavouring to imitate my companion’s processes. “Such paper could not

be bought under half a crown a packet. It is peculiarly strong and

stiff.”

“Peculiar—that is the very word,” said Holmes. “It is not an English

paper at all. Hold it up to the light.”

I did so, and saw a large “E” with a small “g,” a “P,” and a large “G”

with a small “t” woven into the texture of the paper.

“What do you make of that?” asked Holmes.

“The name of the maker, no doubt; or his monogram, rather.”

“Not at all. The ‘G’ with the small ‘t’ stands for ‘Gesellschaft,’

which is the German for ‘Company.’ It is a customary contraction like

our ‘Co.’ ‘P,’ of course, stands for ‘Papier.’ Now for the ‘Eg.’ Let us

glance at our Continental Gazetteer.” He took down a heavy brown volume

from his shelves. “Eglow, Eglonitz—here we are, Egria. It is in a

German-speaking country—in Bohemia, not far from Carlsbad. ‘Remarkable

as being the scene of the death of Wallenstein, and for its numerous

glass-factories and paper-mills.’ Ha, ha, my boy, what do you make of

that?” His eyes sparkled, and he sent up a great blue triumphant cloud

from his cigarette.

“The paper was made in Bohemia,” I said.

“Precisely. And the man who wrote the note is a German. Do you note the

peculiar construction of the sentence—‘This account of you we have from

all quarters received.’ A Frenchman or Russian could not have written

that. It is the German who is so uncourteous to his verbs. It only

remains, therefore, to discover what is wanted by this German who

writes upon Bohemian paper and prefers wearing a mask to showing his

face. And here he comes, if I am not mistaken, to resolve all our

doubts.”

As he spoke there was the sharp sound of horses’ hoofs and grating

wheels against the curb, followed by a sharp pull at the bell. Holmes

whistled.

“A pair, by the sound,” said he. “Yes,” he continued, glancing out of

the window. “A nice little brougham and a pair of beauties. A hundred

and fifty guineas apiece. There’s money in this case, Watson, if there

is nothing else.”

“I think that I had better go, Holmes.”

“Not a bit, Doctor. Stay where you are. I am lost without my Boswell.

And this promises to be interesting. It would be a pity to miss it.”

“But your client—”