Classics Retold

Originally published in The Strand Magazine in September 1891. Baker Street. "My dear fellow," said Sherlock Holmes, as we had been sitting on either side of the fire, in his lodgings, "life is stranger than anything which the man could invent.  We would not care things of common place existence.  If we could fly out of the window hand in hand, hover over the city, gently remove the roofs, and peep in at queer things which are going on, the great coincidences, they would all make fiction." "And yet I am not convinced of it," I answered. The cases, that the papers expose are bald and vulgur.  We have in our police reports realism pushed to its extreme limits, and yet the result is neither fascinating nor artistic." "A certain selection and discretion must be used in producing a realistic effect," said Holmes, "this is wanting in police reports." I smiled and shook my head.  "I can quite understand you thinking so," said I,...

The story was first published in the U.K. in Strand Magazine, in the year 1891. The story inspired The Baker Street Robbery of 1971. ************************************ Mr Sherlock Holmes was in his office when I called upon him on an autumn day. He was in deep conversation with a stout, florid faced, elderly gentleman, with fiery red hair.  I was about to withdraw with an apology, but he pulled me abruptly into his room, and closed the door behind him. "You came at a better time, Mr Watson," he said cordially. "I am afraid that you are engaged." "Not at all. This gentleman, Mr Wilson has been my partner and helper in many of my successful cases, and I am sure that he will be of utmost use to me in yours also." With a bob of greeting the stout gentleman rose from his chair, and his fat-encircled eyes gave me a questioning glance. "Try sette," said Holmes, relapsing into the armchair, and putting his fingertips together, as was his custom when in...

I slept at Baker Street that night, and we were engaged upon our toast and coffee in the morning when the King of Bohemia rushed into the room. "You have really got it!" he cried grasping Sherlock Holmes by either shoulder, and looking eagerly into his face. "Not yet." "But you have hopes?" "I have hopes." "Then, come. I am all impatience to be gone." "We must have a cab." "No, my brougham is waiting." "Then that will simplify matters."  We descended, and started off once more for Briony Lodge. "Irene Adler is married," remarked Holmes. "Married! When?" "Yesterday." "But to whom?" "To an English lawyer named Norton." "But she could not love him?" "I am in hopes that she does." "And why in hopes?" "Because it would spare your Majesty all fear of future annoyance. If the lady love her husband, she does not love your Majesty. ...

At three o'clock precisely I was at Baker Street, but Holmes had not yet returned. He had left shortly after eight o'clock, the landlady informed me. I sat down beside the fire, awaiting him. I was deeply interested in this inquiry. It was altogether different from the previous crimes, which I have already recorded, by its nature and the exalted station of the client gave it a character of its own. In this case, my friend had his masterly grip of the situation. His keen incisive reasoning is a pleasure to me to study his system of work; and to follow the quick subtle methods by which he untangled the most inextricable mysteries is, in fact, thrilling. After a long wait, the door opened, and a drunken looking groom, ill-kempt and side-whiskered, with an inflamed face and disreputable clothes, walked into the room. Accustomed to my friend's amazing skill in the use of disguises, I was certain that it was indeed he. He vanished into his bedroom, and reappeared in five minutes,...