Violence Is Sometimes A Duty.

You Say That Your Fare Told You That He Was A Detective?" "yes, He Did." "when Did He Say This?" "when He Left Me." "did He Say Anything More?" "he Mentioned His Name." Holmes Cast A Swift Glance Of Triumph At Me. "oh, He Mentioned His Name, Did He? That Was Imprudent. What Was The Name That He Mentioned?" “his Name," Said The Cabman, "was Mr. Sherlock Holmes.

As Cuvier Could Correctly Describe A Whole Animal By The Contemplation Of A Single Bone, So The Observer Who Has Thoroughly Understood One Link In A Series Of Incidents Should Be Able To Accurately State All The Other Ones, Both Before And After.

Sir Walter, With His 61 Years Of Life, Although He Never Wrote A Novel Until He Was Over 40, Had, Fortunately For The World, A Longer Working Career Than Most Of His Brethren.

I Have My Own Views About Nature's Methods, Though I Feel That It Is Rather Like A Beetle Giving His

Sherlock Holmes Took His Bottle From The Corner Of The Mantel-piece, And His Hypodermic Syringe From Its Neat Morocco Case. With His Long, White, Nervous Fingers He Adjusted The Delicate Needle, And Rolled Back His Left Shirt-cuff. For Some Little Time His Eyes Rested Thoughtfully Upon The Sinewy Forearm And Wrist, All Dotted And Scarred With Innumerable Puncture-marks. Finally, He Thrust The Sharp Point Home, Pressed Down The Tiny Piston, And Sank Back Into The Velvet-lined Armchair With A Long Sigh Of Satisfaction.