The Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes by Arthur Conan Doyle (read aloud txt) π
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The Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes, published in 1894, is the second collection of Sherlock Holmes stories published in book form. All of the stories included in the collection previously appeared in The Strand Magazine between 1892 and 1893. They purport to be the accounts given by Dr. John Watson of the more remarkable cases in which his friend Mr. Sherlock Holmes becomes involved in his role as a consulting detective.
This collection has several memorable features. The first British edition omitted the story βThe Adventure of the Cardboard Boxβ which appeared in The Strand in 1893. This story did appear in the very first American edition of the collection, immediately following βSilver Blaze,β but it was quickly replaced by a revised edition which omitted it. Apparently these omissions were at the specific request of the author, who was concerned that its inclusion of the theme of adultery would make it unsuitable for younger readers. The story was, however, eventually included in the later collection His Last Bow, but it is out of chronological position there. In this Standard Ebooks edition (as in most modern British editions), we have included this story to restore it to its correct chronological place in the Holmes canon.
The Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes is also notable because by this time Doyle had tired of the Holmes character and decided to kill him off, so that this was intended to be the last Holmes collection ever to be published. It contains several of the best-known Holmes stories, including βSilver Blaze,β βThe Musgrave Ritual,β and βThe Greek Interpreter,β which introduces Sherlockβs brother Mycroft; and of course βThe Final Problemβ in which Holmes struggles with his nemesis Professor Moriarty.
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- Author: Arthur Conan Doyle
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βI am compelled, to begin with, to say something of my own college career. I am a London University man, you know, and I am sure that you will not think that I am unduly singing my own praises if I say that my student career was considered by my professors to be a very promising one. After I had graduated I continued to devote myself to research, occupying a minor position in Kingβs College Hospital, and I was fortunate enough to excite considerable interest by my research into the pathology of catalepsy, and finally to win the Bruce Pinkerton prize and medal by the monograph on nervous lesions to which your friend has just alluded. I should not go too far if I were to say that there was a general impression at that time that a distinguished career lay before me.
βBut the one great stumbling-block lay in my want of capital. As you will readily understand, a specialist who aims high is compelled to start in one of a dozen streets in the Cavendish Square quarter, all of which entail enormous rents and furnishing expenses. Besides this preliminary outlay, he must be prepared to keep himself for some years, and to hire a presentable carriage and horse. To do this was quite beyond my power, and I could only hope that by economy I might in ten yearsβ time save enough to enable me to put up my plate. Suddenly, however, an unexpected incident opened up quite a new prospect to me.
βThis was a visit from a gentleman of the name of Blessington, who was a complete stranger to me. He came up to my room one morning, and plunged into business in an instant.
βββYou are the same Percy Trevelyan who has had so distinguished a career and won a great prize lately?β said he.
βI bowed.
βββAnswer me frankly,β he continued, βfor you will find it to your interest to do so. You have all the cleverness which makes a successful man. Have you the tact?β
βI could not help smiling at the abruptness of the question.
βββI trust that I have my share,β I said.
βββAny bad habits? Not drawn towards drink, eh?β
βββReally, sir!β I cried.
βββQuite right! Thatβs all right! But I was bound to ask. With all these qualities, why are you not in practice?β
βI shrugged my shoulders.
βββCome, come!β said he, in his bustling way. βItβs the old story. More in your brains than in your pocket, eh? What would you say if I were to start you in Brook Street?β
βI stared at him in astonishment.
βββOh, itβs for my sake, not for yours,β he cried. βIβll be perfectly frank with you, and if it suits you it will suit me very well. I have a few thousands to invest, dβye see, and I think Iβll sink them in you.β
βββBut why?β I gasped.
βββWell, itβs just like any other speculation, and safer than most.β
βββWhat am I to do, then?β
βββIβll tell you. Iβll take the house, furnish it, pay the maids, and run the whole place. All you have to do is just to wear out your chair in the consulting-room. Iβll let you have pocket-money and everything. Then you hand over to me three quarters of what you earn, and you keep the other quarter for yourself.β
βThis was the strange proposal, Mr. Holmes, with which the man Blessington approached me. I wonβt weary you with the account of how we bargained and negotiated. It ended in my moving into the house next Lady-day, and starting in practice on very much the same conditions as he had suggested. He came himself to live with me in the character of a resident patient. His heart was weak, it appears, and he needed constant medical supervision. He turned the two best rooms of the first floor into a sitting-room and bedroom for himself. He was a man of singular habits, shunning company and very seldom going out. His life was irregular, but in one respect he was regularity itself. Every evening, at the same hour, he walked into the consulting-room, examined the books, put down five and threepence for every guinea that I had earned, and carried the rest off to the strongbox in his own room.
βI may say with confidence that he never had occasion to regret his speculation. From the first it was a success. A few good cases and the reputation which I had won in the hospital brought me rapidly to the front, and during the last few years I have made him a rich man.
βSo much, Mr. Holmes, for my past history and my relations with Mr. Blessington. It only remains for me now to tell you what has occurred to bring me here tonight.
βSome weeks ago Mr. Blessington came down to me in, as it seemed to me, a state of considerable agitation. He spoke of some burglary which, he said, had been committed in the West End, and he appeared, I remember, to be quite unnecessarily excited about it, declaring that a day should not pass before we should add stronger bolts to our windows and doors. For a week he continued to be in a peculiar state of restlessness, peering continually out of the windows, and ceasing to take the short walk which had usually been the prelude to his dinner. From his manner it struck me that he was in mortal dread of something or somebody, but when I questioned him upon the point he became so offensive that I was compelled to drop the subject. Gradually, as time passed, his fears appeared to die away, and he had renewed his former habits, when a fresh event reduced him to the pitiable state of prostration in which he now lies.
βWhat happened was this. Two days ago I received the letter which I now read to you. Neither address nor date is attached to it.
βββA Russian nobleman who is now resident in England,β it runs, βwould be glad to avail himself of the professional assistance of Dr. Percy Trevelyan. He
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