A Study In Scarlet Arthur Conan Doyle

CHAPTER III. The Lauriston Garden Mystery

  I confess that I was considerably startled by thisfresh proof of the practical nature of my companion'stheories. My respect for his powers of analysisincreased wondrously. There still remained somelurking suspicion in my mind, however, that thewhole thing was a pre-arranged episode, intendedto dazzle me, though what earthly object he couldhave in taking me in was past my comprehension.When I looked at him he had finished reading thenote, and his eyes had assumed the vacant, lacklustreexpression which showed mental abstraction  

  "How in the world did you deduce that?" Iasked.   

  "Deduce what?" said he, petulantly  

  "Why, that he was a retired sergeant ofMarines."  

  "I have no time for trifles," he answered,brusquely; then with a smile, "Excuse my rudeness.You broke the thread of my thoughts; butperhaps it is as well. So you actually were not ableto see that that man was a sergeant of Marines?"   

  "No, indeed."  

  "It was easier to know it than to explain why Iknew it. If you were asked to prove that two andtwo made four, you might find some difficulty, andyet you are quite sure of the fact. Even across thestreet I could see a great blue anchor tattooed on theback of the fellow's hand. That smacked of the sea.He had a military carriage, however, and regulation12side whiskers. There we have the marine. He wasa man with some amount of self-importance and acertain air of command. You must have observedthe way in which he held his head and swung hiscane. A steady, respectable, middle-aged man, too,on the face of him—all facts which led me to believethat he had been a sergeant." 

  "Wonderful!" I ejaculated. 

"Commonplace," said Holmes, though Ithought from his expression that he was pleased atmy evident surprise and admiration. "I said justnow that there were no criminals. It appears thatI am wrong—look at this!" He threw me over thenote which the commissionaire had brought. 

"Why," I cried, as I cast my eye over it, "this isterrible!" 

"It does seem to be a little out of the common,"he remarked, calmly. "Would you mind reading itto me aloud?" 

This is the letter which I read to him—  

  "My dear Mr. Sherlock Holmes:"There has been a bad business duringthe night at 3, Lauriston Gardens, off theBrixton Road. Our man on the beat sawa light there about two in the morning,and as the house was an empty one, suspectedthat something was amiss. Hefound the door open, and in the frontroom, which is bare of furniture, discoveredthe body of a gentleman, welldressed, and having cards in his pocketbearing the name of 'Enoch J. Drebber,Cleveland, Ohio, U.S.A.' There had beenno robbery, nor is there any evidence asto how the man met his death. Thereare marks of blood in the room, butthere is no wound upon his person. Weare at a loss as to how he came into theempty house; indeed, the whole affairis a puzzler. If you can come round tothe house any time before twelve, youwill find me there. I have left everythingin statu quo until I hear from you.If you are unable to come I shall giveyou fuller details, and would esteem it agreat kindness if you would favour mewith your opinion.— "Yours faithfully,"Tobias Gregson."  

  "Gregson is the smartest of the ScotlandYarders," my friend remarked; "he and Lestradeare the pick of a bad lot. They are both quick andenergetic, but conventional—shockingly so. Theyhave their knives into one another, too. They areas jealous as a pair of professional beauties. Therewill be some fun over this case if they are both putupon the scent."  

  I was amazed at the calm way in which he rippledon. "Surely there is not a moment to be lost,"I cried, "shall I go and order you a cab?"  

  "I'm not sure about whether I shall go. I am themost incurably lazy devil that ever stood in shoeleather—that is, when the fit is on me, for I can bespry enough at times."