may judge Lord St. Simon very mercifully and thank our stars that we are never

likely to find ourselves in the same position. Draw your chair up and hand me

my violin, for the only problem we have still to solve is how to while away

these bleak autumnal evenings.”


XI.THE ADVENTURE OF THE BERYL CORONET

“Holmes,”

said I as I stood one morning in our bow-window looking down the street,

“here is a madman coming along. It seems rather sad that his relatives

should allow him to come out alone.”


My friend rose lazily from his armchair and stood with his hands in the pockets

of his dressing-gown, looking over my shoulder. It was a bright, crisp February

morning, and the snow of the day before still lay deep upon the ground,

shimmering brightly in the wintry sun. Down the centre of Baker Street it had

been ploughed into a brown crumbly band by the traffic, but at either side and

on the heaped-up edges of the footpaths it still lay as white as when it fell.

The grey pavement had been cleaned and scraped, but was still dangerously

slippery, so that there were fewer passengers than usual. Indeed, from the

direction of the Metropolitan Station no one was coming save the single

gentleman whose eccentric conduct had drawn my attention.


He was a man of about fifty, tall, portly, and imposing, with a massive,

strongly marked face and a commanding figure. He was dressed in a sombre yet

rich style, in black frock-coat, shining hat, neat brown gaiters, and well-cut

pearl-grey trousers. Yet his actions were in absurd contrast to the dignity of

his dress and features, for he was running hard, with occasional little

springs, such as a weary man gives who is little accustomed to set any tax upon

his legs. As he ran he jerked his hands up and down, waggled his head, and

writhed his face into the most extraordinary contortions.


“What on earth can be the matter with him?” I asked. “He is

looking up at the numbers of the houses.”