opening part but also because the peculiar nature of the story makes me anxious

to have every possible detail from your lips. As a rule, when I have heard some

slight indication of the course of events, I am able to guide myself by the

thousands of other similar cases which occur to my memory. In the present

instance I am forced to admit that the facts are, to the best of my belief,

unique.”


The portly client puffed out his chest with an appearance of some little pride

and pulled a dirty and wrinkled newspaper from the inside pocket of his

greatcoat. As he glanced down the advertisement column, with his head thrust

forward and the paper flattened out upon his knee, I took a good look at the

man and endeavoured, after the fashion of my companion, to read the indications

which might be presented by his dress or appearance.


I did not gain very much, however, by my inspection. Our visitor bore every

mark of being an average commonplace British tradesman, obese, pompous, and

slow. He wore rather baggy grey shepherd’s check trousers, a not

over-clean black frock-coat, unbuttoned in the front, and a drab waistcoat with

a heavy brassy Albert chain, and a square pierced bit of metal dangling down as

an ornament. A frayed top-hat and a faded brown overcoat with a wrinkled velvet

collar lay upon a chair beside him. Altogether, look as I would, there was

nothing remarkable about the man save his blazing red head, and the expression

of extreme chagrin and discontent upon his features.


Sherlock Holmes’ quick eye took in my occupation, and he shook his head

with a smile as he noticed my questioning glances. “Beyond the obvious

facts that he has at some time done manual labour, that he takes snuff, that he

is a Freemason, that he has been in China, and that he has done a considerable

amount of writing lately, I can deduce nothing else.”


Mr. Jabez Wilson started up in his chair, with his forefinger upon the paper,