From time to time I heard some vague
account of his doings; of his summons to Odessa in the case of the Trepoff
murder, of his clearing up of the singular tragedy of the Atkinson
brothers at Trincomalee, and finally of the mission which he had
accomplished so delicately and successfully for the reigning family of
Holland. Beyond these signs of his activity, however, which I merely
shared with all the readers of the daily press, I knew little of my former
friend and companion.
One night--it was on the 20th of March, 1888--I was returning from a
journey to a patient (for I had now returned to civil practice), when my
way led me through Baker Street. As I passed the well-remembered door,
which must always be associated in my mind with my wooing, and with the
dark incidents of the Study in Scarlet, I was seized with a keen desire to
see Holmes again, and to know how he was employing his extraordinary
powers. His rooms were brilliantly lighted, and even as I looked up, I saw
his tall, spare figure pass twice in a dark silhouette against the blind.
He was pacing the room swiftly, eagerly, with his head sunk upon his
chest, and his hands clasped behind him. To me, who knew his every mood
and habit, his attitude and manner told their own story. He was at work
again. He had risen out of his drug-created dreams, and was hot upon the
scent of some new problem.
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