At last, shortly after nine o’clock, there arrived a messenger with a note: Am dining at Goldini’s Restaurant, Gloucester Road, Kensington. Please come at once and join me there. Bring with you a jemmy, a dark lantern, a chisel, and a revolver.—S.H. #SherlockHolmes

"I’ve been cooped up two days, and I’ve spent the daylight hours—as much daylight as I could get in that rat trap—in putting the thing into words. You’re welcome to them—you and your public. There’s the story of the Valley of Fear.”

“In that case,” said I, “we had best carry our breakfast with us, for he is making an early start. His carriage is at the door.” “Never mind. Let him go. He will be clever if he can drive where I cannot follow him.

Sterndale sprang to his feet. “I believe that you are the devil himself!” he cried. Holmes smiled at the compliment. #SherlockHolmes

I need not say that my eyes had hardly glanced over the paragraph before I had sprung into a hansom and was on my way to Baker Street. I found Sir Leslie Oakshott, the famous surgeon in the hall and his brougham waiting at the kerb.

Holmes was curiously distrait, and we walked up and down the garden path for some time in silence. “Have you a clue?” I asked, at last. “It depends upon those cigarettes that I smoked,” said he. “It is possible that I am utterly mistaken. The cigarettes will show me.”

“I’ve heard of your methods before now, Mr. Holmes,” said he, tartly. “You are ready enough to use all the information that the police can lay at your disposal, and then you try to finish the case yourself and bring discredit on them.”

“You seem to be a walking calendar of crime,” said Stamford with a laugh. “You might start a paper on those lines. Call it the ‘Police News of the Past.’” “Very interesting reading it might be made, too,” remarked #SherlockHolmes.

“We wish a statement, Mr. Scott Eccles, as to the events which led up to the death last night of Mr. Aloysius Garcia, of Wisteria Lodge, near Esher.” Our client had sat up with staring eyes and every tinge of colour struck from his astonished face.

It was one Sunday evening early in September of the year 1903 that I received one of Holmes's laconic messages: "Come at once if convenient—if inconvenient come all the same.—S.H." #SherlockHolmes

And then at last I heard him. Far away came the sharp clink of a boot striking upon a stone. Then another and yet another, coming nearer and nearer.

“This case will make a stir, sir,” he remarked. “It beats anything I have seen, and I am no chicken.” “There is no clue?” said Gregson. “None at all,” chimed in Lestrade.

He had spent the whole afternoon at the Manor House in consultation with his two colleagues, and returned about five with a ravenous appetite for a high tea which I had ordered for him. “No confidences, Watson; for they are mighty awkward if it comes to an arrest for conspiracy and murder.”

“Have you any reason to suspect any one of them more than the others?” Soames hesitated. “It is a very delicate question,” said he. “One hardly likes to throw suspicion where there are no proofs.” “Let us hear the suspicions. I will look after the proofs.” #SherlockHolmes

“One moment,” I asked. “Did the stable-boy, when he ran out with the dog, leave the door unlocked behind him?” “Excellent, Watson, excellent!” murmured my companion. #SherlockHolmes

“I want to test a little theory of mine,” said he, pulling on his boots. “I think, Watson, that you are now standing in the presence of one of the most absolute fools in Europe.

"I am not the law, but I represent justice so far as my feeble powers go." #SherlockHolmes

“This may interest you, Lestrade,” he remarked, holding it out. “The murder was done with it.” “I see no marks.” “There are none.” “How do you know, then?”

“That is the problem which we have to solve,” Holmes answered, “and for my part I shall set about it by presuming that my reasoning is correct, and that a double murder has been committed.

“Ah, me! it’s a wicked world, and when a clever man turns his brains to crime it is the worst of all." #SherlockHolmes

“‘Whose was it?’ “‘His who is gone.’ “‘Who shall have it?’ “‘He who will come.’ “‘Where was the sun?’ “‘Over the oak.’ “‘Where was the shadow?’ “‘Under the elm.’

"He's a stiff 'un, sir, if I may say so. I can get along with the Prime Minister, and I've nothing against the Home Secretary, who seemed a civil, obliging sort of man, but I can't stand his lordship. Neither can Mr. Holmes, sir.

But more than that we were never destined to know, though there was much which we might surmise. There was no chance of finding footsteps in the mire, for the rising mud oozed swiftly in upon them, but as we at last reached firmer ground beyond the morass we all looked eagerly for them.

“Criminal cases are continually hinging upon that one point. A man is suspected of a crime months perhaps after it has been committed. His linen or clothes are examined, and brownish stains discovered upon them. Are they blood stains, or mud stains, or rust stains, or fruit stains, or what are they?

“No, no, my good sir,” said Holmes. “There is a master hand here. It is no case of sawed-off shotguns and clumsy six-shooters. You can tell an old master by the sweep of his brush. I can tell a Moriarty when I see one." #SherlockHolmes

"First of all, Mr. Holmes, I think that my employer, Sir Robert, has gone mad." Holmes raised his eyebrows. "This is Baker Street, not Harley Street." #SherlockHolmes

"Two days later—that is, on Wednesday last—there is a curt announcement that the wedding had taken place, and that the honeymoon would be passed at Lord Backwater’s place, near Petersfield. Those are all the notices which appeared before the disappearance of the bride.”

“No; the murderer has escaped.” #SherlockHolmes smiled demurely. “Your Grace can hardly have heard of any small reputation which I possess, or you would not imagine that it is so easy to escape me."

"The door at the bottom was closed, but unlocked. We flung it open and rushed out. I can distinctly remember that as we did so there came three chimes from a neighbouring clock. It was quarter to ten.” “That is of enormous importance,” said Holmes, making a note upon his shirt-cuff. #SherlockHolmes

"It may be some fussy, self-important fool, it may be a matter of life or death," said he, as he handed me the note. "I know no more than this message tells me." It was from the Carlton Club, and dated the evening before. This is what I read: