Read Online And Then There Was No One by Gilbert Adair - Free Book Online
Authors: Gilbert Adair
Ads: Link
lighted candle posed inside it.
Since Holmes had not yet thrown off his fit of petulance, and appeared disinclined to do the honours, it was I who went forward, presented my companion and myself, and invited our visitor to take a chair.
‘My dear sirs,’ he murmured apologetically, ‘you must forgive me for intruding on your intimacy unannounced, and at this late hour, but I … I truly am at my wits’ end. If I had known where else I might turn, I assure you I would never have presumed to disturb you. Oh, but here I am so far forgetting myself that I have failed to offer you my card.’
‘And yet, even as you are, you are not entirely a stranger to us,’ said I. ‘Am I not right, Holmes?’
‘Why,’ said our visitor, perplexed, ‘what can you mean? To my recollection, we have not met before.’
‘I mean only,’ I answered, eager this once to exercise my own powers of deduction, ‘that you are obviously left-handed and a former Army officer, that you have a brother of far stockier physique than yourself and that, having lived in Devon for a good many years, you are naturally unfamiliar with our metropolis.’
‘But, bless my soul, sir, you astonish me!’ he cried. ‘I can hardly believe –’
‘Oh,’ I said lightly, ‘it was really very elementary, you know. Your left-handedness you gave away when –’
‘Dr. Watson,’ he interrupted me in no little degree of agitation, ‘if I say you astonish me, it is that I am in fact right-handed, I have never been a soldier, I was an only child, I have had to visit London four times this past fortnight and, far from living in Devon, I’ve not once set foot in the place!’
For a moment or two there was a disconcerting silence; then, to my relief, Holmes suavely intervened.
‘My friend Watson here,’ he said, ‘whom it has amused to chronicle a few of my trifling successes, has, as you may observe, his own rather underhand method of enquiry. To wit, by postulating the exact contrary of what he senses to be true, he hopes to elicit all the requisite information at once.’ He yawned. ‘It sometimes works.’
‘Most … most ingenious,’ responded our visitor, although, to judge by his prolonged scrutiny of me, his doubts as to my competence, and possibly even my sanity, were by no means allayed.
‘But to your problem,’ Holmes went on. ‘You are, I think, Dr. Eustace Gable, one of our most esteemed botanists. Oh, be assured,’ he drawled, seeing his interlocutor about to speak, ‘it is through no process of ratiocination that I have identified you. It happens that I recently attended an event at the Royal Botanical Society at which you read a most stimulating paper on the variety and luxuriance of South American fronds.’
‘Fronds are my passion, Mr. Holmes!’ Gable said fervently. ‘And, in a way, it is that passion that has brought me here tonight.’
‘Pray continue,’ said Holmes, placing the tips of his fingers together and pensively propping his chin upon them.
‘I should explain that I inhabit a large family estate called The Gables, by a curious coincidence, and situated halfway between Aylesbury and the village of Mentmore. The servants apart, the sole company I have in my rather lonelyhousehold are my sons James and Edward. They are not brothers, you understand, but half-brothers: my first wife died in childbirth, poor dear girl, and my second barely more than twelvemonth ago. Yet James and Edward have been as loving to one another as if they were indeed brothers, and their pranks have brightened many a winter evening for me.
‘Now it’s this way, Mr. Holmes. As I have said, I specialise, as a botanist, in those leaves characteristic of the palm or fern, and my enthusiasm has made of me a much-travelled man. There scarcely remains a corner of the globe to which I have not ventured in search of rare specimens, and I lately spent a fascinating two months in Sumatra in the Dutch East Indies. Well, exactly four weeks ago we
Since Holmes had not yet thrown off his fit of petulance, and appeared disinclined to do the honours, it was I who went forward, presented my companion and myself, and invited our visitor to take a chair.
‘My dear sirs,’ he murmured apologetically, ‘you must forgive me for intruding on your intimacy unannounced, and at this late hour, but I … I truly am at my wits’ end. If I had known where else I might turn, I assure you I would never have presumed to disturb you. Oh, but here I am so far forgetting myself that I have failed to offer you my card.’
‘And yet, even as you are, you are not entirely a stranger to us,’ said I. ‘Am I not right, Holmes?’
‘Why,’ said our visitor, perplexed, ‘what can you mean? To my recollection, we have not met before.’
‘I mean only,’ I answered, eager this once to exercise my own powers of deduction, ‘that you are obviously left-handed and a former Army officer, that you have a brother of far stockier physique than yourself and that, having lived in Devon for a good many years, you are naturally unfamiliar with our metropolis.’
‘But, bless my soul, sir, you astonish me!’ he cried. ‘I can hardly believe –’
‘Oh,’ I said lightly, ‘it was really very elementary, you know. Your left-handedness you gave away when –’
‘Dr. Watson,’ he interrupted me in no little degree of agitation, ‘if I say you astonish me, it is that I am in fact right-handed, I have never been a soldier, I was an only child, I have had to visit London four times this past fortnight and, far from living in Devon, I’ve not once set foot in the place!’
For a moment or two there was a disconcerting silence; then, to my relief, Holmes suavely intervened.
‘My friend Watson here,’ he said, ‘whom it has amused to chronicle a few of my trifling successes, has, as you may observe, his own rather underhand method of enquiry. To wit, by postulating the exact contrary of what he senses to be true, he hopes to elicit all the requisite information at once.’ He yawned. ‘It sometimes works.’
‘Most … most ingenious,’ responded our visitor, although, to judge by his prolonged scrutiny of me, his doubts as to my competence, and possibly even my sanity, were by no means allayed.
‘But to your problem,’ Holmes went on. ‘You are, I think, Dr. Eustace Gable, one of our most esteemed botanists. Oh, be assured,’ he drawled, seeing his interlocutor about to speak, ‘it is through no process of ratiocination that I have identified you. It happens that I recently attended an event at the Royal Botanical Society at which you read a most stimulating paper on the variety and luxuriance of South American fronds.’
‘Fronds are my passion, Mr. Holmes!’ Gable said fervently. ‘And, in a way, it is that passion that has brought me here tonight.’
‘Pray continue,’ said Holmes, placing the tips of his fingers together and pensively propping his chin upon them.
‘I should explain that I inhabit a large family estate called The Gables, by a curious coincidence, and situated halfway between Aylesbury and the village of Mentmore. The servants apart, the sole company I have in my rather lonelyhousehold are my sons James and Edward. They are not brothers, you understand, but half-brothers: my first wife died in childbirth, poor dear girl, and my second barely more than twelvemonth ago. Yet James and Edward have been as loving to one another as if they were indeed brothers, and their pranks have brightened many a winter evening for me.
‘Now it’s this way, Mr. Holmes. As I have said, I specialise, as a botanist, in those leaves characteristic of the palm or fern, and my enthusiasm has made of me a much-travelled man. There scarcely remains a corner of the globe to which I have not ventured in search of rare specimens, and I lately spent a fascinating two months in Sumatra in the Dutch East Indies. Well, exactly four weeks ago we
Similar Books
