The Adventure of the Dying DetectiveDoyle, Arthur Conan
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The Adventure of the Dying Detective
Doyle, Arthur Conan
Detective and mystery stories; Holmes, Sherlock (Fictitious character) -- Fiction; Private investigators -- England -- Fiction
"You'll only get yourself hurt," said the inspector. "Stand still,
will you?" There was the click of the closing handcuffs.
"A nice trap!" cried the high, snarling voice. "It will bring YOU into
the dock, Holmes, not me. He asked me to come here to cure him. I was
sorry for him and I came. Now he will pretend, no doubt, that I have
said anything which he may invent which will corroborate his insane
suspicions. You can lie as you like, Holmes. My word is always as good
as yours."
"Good heavens!" cried Holmes. "I had totally forgotten him. My dear
Watson, I owe you a thousand apologies. To think that I should have
overlooked you! I need not introduce you to Mr. Culverton Smith, since
I understand that you met somewhat earlier in the evening. Have you the
cab below? I will follow you when I am dressed, for I may be of some
use at the station.
"I never needed it more," said Holmes as he refreshed himself with a
glass of claret and some biscuits in the intervals of his toilet.
"However, as you know, my habits are irregular, and such a feat means
less to me than to most men. It was very essential that I should
impress Mrs. Hudson with the reality of my condition, since she was to
convey it to you, and you in turn to him. You won't be offended,
Watson? You will realize that among your many talents dissimulation
finds no place, and that if you had shared my secret you would never
have been able to impress Smith with the urgent necessity of his
presence, which was the vital point of the whole scheme. Knowing his
vindictive nature, I was perfectly certain that he would come to look
upon his handiwork."
"But your appearance, Holmes--your ghastly face?"
"Three days of absolute fast does not improve one's beauty, Watson.
For the rest, there is nothing which a sponge may not cure. With
vaseline upon one's forehead, belladonna in one's eyes, rouge over the
cheek-bones, and crusts of beeswax round one's lips, a very satisfying
effect can be produced. Malingering is a subject upon which I have
sometimes thought of writing a monograph. A little occasional talk
about half-crowns, oysters, or any other extraneous subject produces a
pleasing effect of delirium."
"But why would you not let me near you, since there was in truth no
infection?"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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