Whodunit?

Chapter One The Speckled Band By Sir Arthur Conan Doyle No collection of detective stories would be complete without Sherlock Holmes. Everyone can recognize him, even in outline: the pipe, the deerstalker hat, and the eager, sharp-featured profile are famous all over the world and have been for more than 100 years. Most of the stories are narrated by Holmes's great friend, Dr. Watson, and this is one of the very best. It begins in their comfortable rooms in Baker Street and culminates in a night of extraordinary suspense and horror as Holmes and Watson wait in the darkened murder room for the appearance of the speckled band, which has caused the horrifying death of a young woman. But what can it be? IN GLANCING OVER my notes of the 70-odd cases in which I have during the last eight years studied the methods of my friend Sherlock Holmes, I find many tragic, some comic, a large number merely strange, but none commonplace; for, working as he did rather for the love of his art than for the acquirement of wealth, he refused to associate himself with any investigation that did not tend toward the unusual and even the fantastic. Of all these varied cases, however, I cannot recall any that presented more singular features than that which was associated with the well-known Surrey family of the Roylotts of Stoke Moran. The events in question occurred in the early days of my association with Holmes, when we were sharing rooms as bachelors on Baker Street. It is possible that I might have placed them upon record before, but a promise of secrecy was made at the time, from which I have only been freed during the last month by the untimely death of the lady to whom the pledge was given. It is perhaps as well that the facts should now come to light, for I have reasons to know there are widespread rumors as to the death of Dr. Grimesby Roylott that tend to make the matter even more terrible than the truth. It was early in April, in the year '83, that I woke one morning to find Sherlock Holmes standing, fully dressed, by the side of my bed. He was a late riser as a rule, and, as the clock on the mantelpiece showed me that it was only a quarter past seven, I blinked up at him in some surprise, and perhaps just a little resentment, for I was myself regular in my habits. "Very sorry to wake you up, Watson," said he, "but it's the common lot this morning. Mrs. Hudson has been woken up, she retorted upon me, and I on you." "What is it, then? A fire?" "No, a client. It seems that a young lady has arrived in a considerable state of excitement, who insists upon seeing me. She is waiting now in the sitting room. Now, when young ladies wander about the metropolis at this hour of the morning and wake sleepy people up out of their beds, I presume that it is something very pressing that they have to communicate. Should it prove to be an interesting case, you would, I am sure, wish to follow it from the outset. I thought at any rate that I should call you and give you the chance." "My dear fellow, I would not miss it for anything." I had no keener pleasure than in following Holmes in his professional investigations and in admiring the rapid deductions, as swift as intuitions and yet always founded on a logical basis, with which he unraveled the problems that were submitted to him. I rapidly threw on my clothes and was ready in a few minutes to accompany my friend down to the sitting room. A lady dressed in black and heavily veiled, who had been sitting in the window, rose as we entered. "Good morning, madam," said Holmes cheerily. "My name is Sherlock Holmes. This is my intimate friend and aPullman, Philip is the author of 'Whodunit? ', published 2007 under ISBN 9780753461426 and ISBN 0753461420.