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 The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Adventures of Sherlock Holmesby Sir Arthur Conan Doyle(#15 in our series by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle)Copyright laws are changing all over the world. Be sure to check thecopyright laws for your country before downloading or redistributingthis or any other Project Gutenberg eBook. This header should be the first thing seen when viewing this ProjectGutenberg file. Please do not remove it. Do not change or edit theheader without written permission.Please read the "legal small print," and other information about theeBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file. Included isimportant information about your specific rights and restrictions inhow the file may be used. You can also find out about how to make adonation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved.**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts****eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971*******These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!***** Title: The Adventures of Sherlock HolmesAuthor: Sir Arthur Conan DoyleRelease Date: March, 1999 [EBook #1661][Most recently updated: November 29, 2002]Edition: 12Language: EnglishCharacter set encoding: ASCII*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, THE ADVENTURES OFSHERLOCK HOLMES ***(Additional editing by Jose Menendez) THE ADVENTURES OF SHERLOCK HOLMES by SIR ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE
 
 I. A Scandal in BohemiaII. The Red-headed LeagueIII. A Case of IdentityIV. The Boscombe Valley MysteryV. The Five Orange PipsVI. The Man with the Twisted LipVII. The Adventure of the Blue CarbuncleVIII. The Adventure of the Speckled BandIX. The Adventure of the Engineer's ThumbX. The Adventure of the Noble BachelorXI. The Adventure of the Beryl CoronetXII. The Adventure of the Copper BeechesADVENTURE I. A SCANDAL IN BOHEMIAI. To Sherlock Holmes she is always THE woman. I have seldom heardhim mention her under any other name. In his eyes she eclipsesand predominates the whole of her sex. It was not that he feltany emotion akin to love for Irene Adler. All emotions, and thatone particularly, were abhorrent to his cold, precise butadmirably balanced mind. He was, I take it, the most perfectreasoning and observing machine that the world has seen, but as alover he would have placed himself in a false position. He neverspoke of the softer passions, save with a gibe and a sneer. They were admirable things for the observer--excellent for drawing theveil from men's motives and actions. But for the trained reasonerto admit such intrusions into his own delicate and finelyadjusted temperament was to introduce a distracting factor whichmight throw a doubt upon all his mental results. Grit in asensitive instrument, or a crack in one of his own high-powerlenses, would not be more disturbing than a strong emotion in anature such as his. And yet there was but one woman to him, andthat woman was the late Irene Adler, of dubious and questionablememory.I had seen little of Holmes lately. My marriage had drifted usaway from each other. My own complete happiness, and thehome-centred interests which rise up around the man who firstfinds himself master of his own establishment, were sufficient toabsorb all my attention, while Holmes, who loathed every form of society with his whole Bohemian soul, remained in our lodgings in
 
Baker Street, buried among his old books, and alternating from week to week between cocaine and ambition, the drowsiness of thedrug, and the fierce energy of his own keen nature. He was still,as ever, deeply attracted by the study of crime, and occupied hisimmense faculties and extraordinary powers of observation infollowing out those clues, and clearing up those mysteries whichhad been abandoned as hopeless by the official police. From timeto time I heard some vague account of his doings: of his summonsto Odessa in the case of the Trepoff murder, of his clearing upof the singular tragedy of the Atkinson brothers at Trincomalee,and finally of the mission which he had accomplished sodelicately and successfully for the reigning family of Holland.Beyond these signs of his activity, however, which I merelyshared with all the readers of the daily press, I knew little of my former friend and companion.One night--it was on the twentieth of March, 1888--I wasreturning from a journey to a patient (for I had now returned tocivil practice), when my way led me through Baker Street. As Ipassed the well-remembered door, which must always be associatedin my mind with my wooing, and with the dark incidents of theStudy in Scarlet, I was seized with a keen desire to see Holmesagain, and to know how he was employing his extraordinary powers.His rooms were brilliantly lit, and, even as I looked up, I sawhis tall, spare figure pass twice in a dark silhouette againstthe blind. He was pacing the room swiftly, eagerly, with his headsunk upon his chest and his hands clasped behind him. To me, whoknew his every mood and habit, his attitude and manner told theirown story. He was at work again. He had risen out of hisdrug-created dreams and was hot upon the scent of some newproblem. I rang the bell and was shown up to the chamber whichhad formerly been in part my own.His manner was not effusive. It seldom was; but he was glad, Ithink, to see me. With hardly a word spoken, but with a kindlyeye, he waved me to an armchair, threw across his case of cigars,and indicated a spirit case and a gasogene in the corner. Then hestood before the fire and looked me over in his singularintrospective fashion."Wedlock suits you," he remarked. "I think, Watson, that you haveput on seven and a half pounds since I saw you.""Seven!" I answered."Indeed, I should have thought a little more. Just a trifle more,I fancy, Watson. And in practice again, I observe. You did nottell me that you intended to go into harness.""Then, how do you know?"
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