Sherlock Holmes - Sign of Four

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Chapter 1

Chapter 1 - The Science of Deduction

Sherlock Holmes took his bottle from the corner of the mantel- piece, and his
hypodermic syringe from its neat morocco case. With his long, white, nervous
fingers he adjusted the delicate needle and rolled back his left shirtcuff. For some
little time his eyes rested thoughtfully upon the sinewy forearm and wrist, all dotted
and scarred with innumerable puncture-marks. Finally, he thrust the sharp point
home, pressed down the tiny piston, and sank back into the velvet-lined armchair
with a long sigh of satisfaction.

Three times a day for many months I had witnessed this performance, but custom
had not reconciled my mind to it. On the contrary, from day to day I had become
more irritable at the sight, and my conscience swelled nightly within me at the
thought that I had lacked the courage to protest. Again and again I had registered
a vow that I should deliver my soul upon the subject; but there was that in the cool,
nonchalant air of my companion which made him the last man with whom one
would care to take anything approaching to a liberty. His great powers, his
masterly manner, and the experience which I had had of his many extraor- dinary
qualities, all made me diffident and backward in crossing him.

Yet upon that afternoon, whether it was the Beaune which I had taken with my lunch
or the additional exasperation produced by the extreme deliberation of his
manner, I suddenly felt that I could hold out no longer.

"Which is it to-day," I asked, "morphine or cocaine?"

He raised his eyes languidly from the old black-letter volume which he had

"It is cocaine," he said, "a seven-per-cent solution. Would you care to try it?"

"No, indeed," I answered brusquely. "My constitution has not got over the Afghan
campaign yet. I cannot afford to throw any extra strain upon it."

He smiled at my vehemence. "Perhaps you are right, Wat- son," he said. "I
suppose that its influence is physically a bad one. I find it, however, so
transcendently stimulating and clarify- ing to the mind that its secondary action is a
matter of small moment."

"But consider!" I said earnestly. "Count the cost! Your brain may, as you say, be
roused and excited, but it is a pathological and morbid process which involves
increased tissue-change and may at least leave a permanent weakness. You
know, too, what a black reaction comes upon you. Surely the game is hardly worth
the candle. Why should you, for a mere passing pleasure, risk the loss of those
great powers with which you have been endowed? Remember that I speak not
only as one comrade to another but as a medical man to one for whose
constitution he is to some extent answerable."

He did not seem offended. On the contrary, he put his finger- tips together, and
leaned his elbows on the arms of his chair, like one who has a relish for

"My mind," he said, "rebels at stagnation. Give me prob- lems, give me work, give
me the most abstruse cryptogram, or the most intricate analysis, and I am in my
own proper atmo- sphere. I can dispense then with artificial stimulants. But I abhor
the dull routine of existence. I crave for mental exaltation. That is why I have chosen
my own particular profession, or rather created it, for I am the only one in the

"The only unofficial detective?" I said, raising my eyebrows.

"The only unofficial consulting detective," he answered. "I am the last and highest
court of appeal in detection. When Greg- son, or Lestrade, or Athelney Jones are
out of their depths -- which, by the way, is their normal state -- the matter is laid
before me. I examine the data, as an expert, and pronounce a specialist's opinion.
I claim no credit in such cases. My name figures in no newspaper. The work itself,
the pleasure of finding a field for my peculiar powers, is my highest reward. But
you have yourself had some experience of my methods of work in the Jefferson
Hope case."

"Yes, indeed," said I cordially. "I was never so struck by anything in my life. I even
embodied it in a small brochure, with the somewhat fantastic title of 'A Study in
Scarlet.' "

He shook his head sadly.

"I glanced over it," said he. "Honestly, I cannot congratulate you upon it. Detection
is, or ought to be, an exact science and should be treated in the same cold and
unemotional manner. You have attempted to tinge it with romanticism, which
produces much the same effect as if you worked a love-story or an elopement into
the fifth proposition of Euclid."

"But the romance was there," I remonstrated. "I could not tamper with the facts."

"Some facts should be suppressed, or, at least, a just sense of proportion should
be observed in treating them. The only point in the case which deserved mention
was the curious analytical reasoning from effects to causes, by which I succeeded
in unrav- elling it."

I was annoyed at this criticism of a work which had been specially designed to
please him. I confess, too, that I was irritated by the egotism which seemed to
demand that every line of my pamphlet should be devoted to his own special
doings. More than once during the years that I had lived with him in Baker Street I
had observed that a small vanity underlay my companion's quiet and didactic
manner. I made no remark however, but sat nursing my wounded leg. I had had a
Jezaii bullet through it some time before, and though it did not prevent me from
walking it ached wearily at every change of the weather.

"My practice has extended recently to the Continent," said Holmes after a while,
filling up his old brier-root pipe. "I was consulted last week by Francois le Villard,
who, as you probably know, has come rather to the front lately in the French
detective service. He has all the Celtic power of quick intuition but he is deficient
in the wide range of exact knowledge which is essential to the higher
developments of his art. The case was concerned with a will and possessed some
features of interest. I was able to refer him to two parallel cases, the one at Riga in
1857, and the other at St. Louis in 1871, which have suggested to him the true
solution. Here is the letter which I had this morning acknowledging my assistance."

He tossed over, as he spoke, a crumpled sheet of foreign notepaper. I glanced my
eyes down it, catching a profusion of notes of admiration, with stray magnifiques,
coup-de-maitres and tours-de-force, all testifying to the ardent admiration of the

"He speaks as a pupil to his master," said I.

"Oh, he rates my assistance too highly," said Sherlock Holmes lightly. "He has
coosiderable gifts himself. He possesses two out of the three qualities necessary
for the ideal detective. He has the power of observation and that of deduction. He
is only wanting in knowledge, and that may come in time. He is now translating my
small works into French."

"Your works?"

"Oh, didn't you know?" he cried, laughing. "Yes, I have been guilty of several
monographs. They are all upon technical subjects. Here, for example, is one 'Upon
the Distinction be- tween the Ashes of the Various Tobaccos.' In it I enumerate a
hundred and forty forms of cigar, cigarette, and pipe tobacco, with coloured plates
illustrating the difference in the ash. It is a point which is continually turning up in
criminal trials, and which is sometimes of supreme importance as a clue. If you
can say definitely, for example, that some murder had been done by a man who
was smoking an Indian lunkah, it obviously narrows your field of search. To the
trained eye there is as much differ- ence between the black ash of a Trichinopoly
and the white fluff of bird's-eye as there is between a cabbage and a potato."

"You have an extraordinary genius for minutiae," I remarked.

"I appreciate their importance. Here is my monograph upon the tracing of
footsteps, with some remarks upon the uses of plaster of Paris as a preserver of
impresses. Here, too, is a curious little work upon the influence of a trade upon the
form of the hand, with lithotypes of the hands of slaters, sailors, cork- cutters,
compositors, weavers, and diamond-polishers. That is a matter of great practical
interest to the scientific detective -- especially in cases of unclaimed bodies, or in
discovering the antecedents of criminals. But I weary you with my hobby."

"Not at all," I answered earnestly. "It is of the greatest interest to me, especially
since I have had the opportunity of observing your practical application of it. But
you spoke just now of observation and deduction. Surely the one to some extent
implies the other."

"Why, hardly," he answered, leaning back luxuriously in his armchair and sending
up thick blue wreaths from his pipe. "For example, observation shows me that you
have been to the Wigmore Street Post-Office this morning, but deduction lets me
know that when there you dispatched a telegram."

"Right!" said I. "Right on both points! But I confess that I don't see how you arrived
at it. It was a sudden impulse upon my part, and I have mentioned it to no one."

"It is simplicity itself," he remarked, chuckling at my surprise -- "so absurdly simple
that an explanation is superfluous; and yet it may serve to define the limits of
observation and of deduction. Observation tells me that you have a little reddish
mould adhering to your instep. Just opposite the Wigmore Street Office they have
taken up the pavement and thrown up some earth, which lies in such a way that it
is difficult to avoid treading in it in entering. The earth is of this peculiar reddish tint
which is found, as far as I know, nowhere else in the neigh- bourhood. So much is
observation. The rest is deduction."

"How, then, did you deduce the telegram?"

"Why, of course I knew that you had not written a letter, since I sat opposite to you
all morning. I see also in your open desk there that you have a sheet of stamps
and a thick bundle of postcards. What could you go into the post-office for, then,
but to send a wire? Eliminate all other factors, and the one which remains must be
the truth."

"In this case it certainly is so," I replied after a little thought. "The thing, however, is,
as you say, of the simplest. Would you think me impertinent if I were to put your
theories to a more severe test?"

"On the contrary," he answered, "it would prevent me from taking a second dose
of cocaine. I should be delighted to look into any problem which you might submit
to me."

"I have heard you say it is difficult for a man to have any object in daily use without
leaving the impress of his individual- ity upon it in such a way that a trained
observer might read it. Now, I have here a watch which has recently come into my
possession. Would you have the kindness to let me have an opinion upon the
character or habits of the late owner?"

I handed him over the watch with some slight feeling of amusement in my heart, for
the test was, as I thought, an impossible one, and I intended it as a lesson against
the some- what dogmatic tone which he occasionally assumed. He balanced the
watch in his hand, gazed hard at the dial, opened the back, and examined the
works, first with his naked eyes and then with a powerful convex lens. I could hardly
keep from smiling at his crestfallen face when he finally snapped the case to and
handed it back.

"There are hardly any data," he remarked. "The watch has been recently cleaned,
which robs me of my most suggestive facts. "

"You are right," I answered. "It was cleaned before being sent to me."

In my heart I accused my companion of putting forward a most lame and impotent
excuse to cover his failure. What data could he expect from an uncleaned watch?

"Though unsatisfactory, my research has not been entirely barren," he observed,
staring up at the ceiling with dreamy, lack-lustre eyes. "Subject to your correction, I
should judge that the watch belonged to your elder brother, who inherited it from
your father."

"That you gather, no doubt, from the H. W. upon the back?"

"Quite so. The W. suggests your own name. The date of the watch is nearly fifty
years back, and the initials are as old as the watch: so it was made for the last
generation. Jewellery usually descends to the eldest son, and he is most likely to
have the same name as the father. Your father has, if I remember right, been dead
many years. It has, therefore, been in the hands of your eldest brother."

"Right, so far," said I. "Anything else?"

"He was a man of untidy habits -- very untidy and careless. He was left with good
prospects, but he threw away his chances, lived for some time in poverty with
occasional short intervals of prosperity, and finally, taking to drink, he died. That is
all I can gather."

I sprang from my chair and limped impatiently about the room with considerable
bitterness in my heart.

"This is unworthy of you, Holmes," I said. "I could not have believed that you would
have descended to this. You have made inquiries into the history of my unhappy
brother, and you now pretend to deduce this knowledge in some fanciful way. You
cannot expect me to believe that you have read all this from his old watch! It is
unkind and, to speak plainly, has a touch of charlatanism in it."

"My dear doctor," said he kindly, "pray accept my apolo- gies. Viewing the matter
as an abstract problem, I had forgotten how personal and painful a thing it might
be to you. I assure you, however, that I never even knew that you had a brother until
you handed me the watch."

"Then how in the name of all that is wonderful did you get these facts? They are
absolutely correct in every particular."

"Ah, that is good luck. I could only say what was the balance of probability. I did not
at all expect to be so accurate."

"But it was not mere guesswork?"

"No, no: I never guess. It is a shocking habit -- destructive to the logical faculty.
What seems strange to you is only so because you do not follow my train of
thought or observe the small facts upon which large inferences may depend. For
example, I began by stating that your brother was careless. When you observe the
lower part of that watch-case you notice that it is not only dinted in two places but it
is cut and marked all over from the habit of keeping other hard objects, such as
coins or keys, in the same pocket. Surely it is no great feat to assume that a man
who treats a fifty-guinea watch so cavalierly must be a careless man. Nei- ther is it
a very far-fetched inference that a man who inherits one article of such value is
pretty well provided for in other respects."

I nodded to show that I followed his reasoning.

"It is very customary for pawnbrokers in England, when they take a watch, to
scratch the numbers of the ticket with a pin- point upon the inside of the case. It is
more handy than a label as there is no risk of the number being lost or transposed.
There are no less than four such numbers visible to my lens on the inside of this
case. Inference -- that your brother was often at low water. Secondary inference --
that he had occasional bursts of prosper- ity, or he could not have redeemed the
pledge. Finally, I ask you to look at the inner plate, which contains the keyhole.
Look at the thousands of scratches all round the hole -- marks where the key has
slipped. What sober man's key could have scored those grooves? But you will
never see a drunkard's watch without them. He winds it at night, and he leaves
these traces of his unsteady hand. Where is the mystery in all this?"

"It is as clear as daylight," I answered. "I regret the injustice which I did you. I
should have had more faith in your marvellous faculty. May I ask whether you have
any professional inquiry on foot at present?"

"None. Hence the cocaine. I cannot live without brainwork. What else is there to
live for? Stand at the window here. Was ever such a dreary, dismal, unprofitable
world? See how the yellow fog swirls down the street and drifts across the dun-
coloured houses. What could be more hopelessly prosaic and material? What is
the use of having powers, Doctor, when one has no field upon which to exert
them? Crime is commonplacc, existence is commonplace, and no qualities save
those which are commonplace have any function upon earth."

I had opened my mouth to reply to this tirade when, with a crisp knock, our
landlady entered, bearing a card upon the brass salver.

"A young lady for you, sir," she said, addressing my companion.

"Miss Mary Morstan," he read. "Hum! I have no recollec- tion of the name. Ask the
young lady to step up, Mrs. Hudson. Don't go, Doctor. I should prefer that you

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All Family Resources provides a collection of Sherlock Holmes written by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle between 1887 and 1925.
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