 to his cold, precise, but admirably balanced mind. He was, I take it, the most perfect reasoning and observing machine that the world has seen. But as a lover, he would have placed himself in a false position. He never spoke of the softer passions, save with a gibe and a sneer. They were admirable things for the observer, excellent for drawing the veil.
 from men's motives and actions. But for the trained reasoner to admit such intrusions into his own delicate and finely adjusted temperament was to introduce a distracting factor which might throw a doubt on all his mental results. Grit in a sensitive instrument or a crack in one of his own high-powered lenses would not be more disturbing
 than a strong emotion in a nature such as his. And yet there was but one woman to him and that woman was the late Irene Adler of dubious and questionable memory. I have seen little of Holmes lately, my marriage had drifted us away from each other, my own complete happiness and the home-centered interests which rise up around the man who first finds himself
 a disaster of his own establishment were sufficient to absorb all my intentions while Holmes, who loathed every form of society with his whole bohemian soul remained in our lodging in Baker Street. Buried among his old books and altering from week-to-week between cocaine and ambition, the drowsiness of the drug and the fierce
 of his own keen nature. He was still as ever deeply attracted by study of crime and occupied his immense faculties and extraordinary powers of observation in following out these clues and clearing up those mysteries which had been abandoned as hopeless by the official police. 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 the science 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
 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 lit 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. I rang the bell and was shown up to the chamber which had formerly been in part my
 own. His manner was not effusive. It seldom was but he was glad I think to see me. It was hardly a word spoken but with a kindly eye he waved me and armchair through across his case of cigars and indicated a spirit case and a gasogene in the corner. Then he stood before the fire and looked me over in his singular introspective fashion.
