Sherlock Holmes - Character Illustrations
06/08/09 16:30 Filed in: Character Illustrations
Holmes had spent several days in bed, as was his habit from time to time, but he emerged that morning with a long foolscap document in his hand and a twinkle of amusement in his austere gray eyes.
“Patience! Patience, Mr. Garrideb!” said my friend in a soothing voice. “Dr. Watson would tell you that these little digressions of mine sometimes prove in the end to have some bearing on the matter."
Holmes had lit his pipe, and he sat for some time with a curious smile upon his face.
“I merely called to make your acquaintance, and there is no reason why I should interrupt your studies,” said Holmes. “I prefer to establish personal touch with those with whom I do business."
I noticed that my friend’s face cleared when the American left the room, and the look of thoughtful perplexity had vanished.
“I wish I could look over your collection, Mr. Garrideb,” said he. “In my profession all sorts of odd knowledge comes useful, and this room of yours is a storehouse of it.”
“This is a more serious matter than I had expected, Watson,” said he. “It is fair to tell you so, though I know it will only be an additional reason to you for running your head into danger. I should know my Watson by now. But there is danger, and you should know it.”
Then my friend’s wiry arms were round me, and he was leading me to a chair.
“You’re not hurt, Watson? For God‘s sake, say that you are not hurt!”
It was worth a wound — it was worth many wounds — to know the depth of loyalty and love which lay behind that cold mask. The clear, hard eyes were dimmed for a moment, and the firm lips were shaking. For the one and only time I caught a glimpse of a great heart as well as of a great brain.
His face set like flint as he glared at our prisoner, who was sitting up with a dazed face. “By the Lord, it is as well for you. If you had killed Watson, you would not have got out of this room alive."
"Help yourselves, gentlemen. Call it a deal and let me beat it.”
Holmes laughed.
“We don’t do things like that, Mr. Evans. There is no bolthole for you in this country."
“Patience! Patience, Mr. Garrideb!” said my friend in a soothing voice. “Dr. Watson would tell you that these little digressions of mine sometimes prove in the end to have some bearing on the matter."
Holmes had lit his pipe, and he sat for some time with a curious smile upon his face.
“I merely called to make your acquaintance, and there is no reason why I should interrupt your studies,” said Holmes. “I prefer to establish personal touch with those with whom I do business."
I noticed that my friend’s face cleared when the American left the room, and the look of thoughtful perplexity had vanished.
“I wish I could look over your collection, Mr. Garrideb,” said he. “In my profession all sorts of odd knowledge comes useful, and this room of yours is a storehouse of it.”
“This is a more serious matter than I had expected, Watson,” said he. “It is fair to tell you so, though I know it will only be an additional reason to you for running your head into danger. I should know my Watson by now. But there is danger, and you should know it.”
Then my friend’s wiry arms were round me, and he was leading me to a chair.
“You’re not hurt, Watson? For God‘s sake, say that you are not hurt!”
It was worth a wound — it was worth many wounds — to know the depth of loyalty and love which lay behind that cold mask. The clear, hard eyes were dimmed for a moment, and the firm lips were shaking. For the one and only time I caught a glimpse of a great heart as well as of a great brain.
His face set like flint as he glared at our prisoner, who was sitting up with a dazed face. “By the Lord, it is as well for you. If you had killed Watson, you would not have got out of this room alive."
"Help yourselves, gentlemen. Call it a deal and let me beat it.”
Holmes laughed.
“We don’t do things like that, Mr. Evans. There is no bolthole for you in this country."