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Updated: May 16, 2025
It is my weakness. The landscape is a genuine Corot, and, though a connoisseur might perhaps throw a doubt upon that Salvator Rosa, there cannot be the least question about the Bouguereau. I am partial to the modern French school." "You will excuse me, Mr. Sholto," said Miss Morstan, "but I am here at your request to learn something which you desire to tell me.
We had all sat absorbed, listening to his extraordinary narrative. At the short account of her father's death Miss Morstan had turned deadly white, and for a moment I feared that she was about to faint. She rallied however, on drinking a glass of water which I quietly poured out for her from a Venetian carafe upon the side-table.
"This unexpected occurrence," he said, "has caused us rather to lose sight of the original purpose of our journey." "I have just been thinking so," I answered. "It is not right that Miss Morstan should remain in this stricken house." "No. You must escort her home. She lives with Mrs. Cecil Forrester, in Lower Camberwell: so it is not very far. I will wait for you here if you will drive out again.
"Well, and there is the end of our little drama," I remarked, after we had set some time smoking in silence. "I fear that it may be the last investigation in which I shall have the chance of studying your methods. Miss Morstan has done me the honor to accept me as a husband in prospective." He gave a most dismal groan. "I feared as much," said he. "I really cannot congratulate you."
He sat down upon a low settee and blinked at us inquiringly with his weak, watery blue eyes. "For my part," said Holmes, "whatever you may choose to say will go no further." I nodded to show my agreement. "That is well! That is well!" said he. "May I offer you a glass of Chianti, Miss Morstan? Or of Tokay? I keep no other wines. Shall I open a flask? No?
I brought it over to England, and on the night of Morstan's arrival he came straight over here to claim his share. He walked over from the station, and was admitted by my faithful Lal Chowdar, who is now dead. Morstan and I had a difference of opinion as to the division of the treasure, and we came to heated words.
Holmes declares that he overheard me caution him against the great danger of taking more than two drops of castor oil, while I recommended strychnine in large doses as a sedative. However that may be, I was certainly relieved when our cab pulled up with a jerk and the coachman sprang down to open the door. "This, Miss Morstan, is Pondicherry Lodge," said Mr. Thaddeus Sholto, as he handed her out.
In spite of his obtrusive baldness, he gave the impression of youth. In point of fact he had just turned his thirtieth year. "Your servant, Miss Morstan," he kept repeating, in a thin, high voice. "Your servant, gentlemen. Pray step into my little sanctum. A small place, miss, but furnished to my own liking. An oasis of art in the howling desert of South London."
What justice can she have? It is too much to suppose that her father is still alive. There is no other injustice in her case that you know of." "There are difficulties; there are certainly difficulties," said Sherlock Holmes, pensively. "But our expedition of to-night will solve them all. Ah, here is a four-wheeler, and Miss Morstan is inside. Are you all ready?
Crime is commonplace, existence is commonplace, and no qualities save those which are commonplace have any function upon earth." I had opened my mouth to reply to this tirade, when with a crisp knock our landlady entered, bearing a card upon the brass salver. "A young lady for you, sir," she said, addressing my companion. "Miss Mary Morstan," he read. "Hum! I have no recollection of the name.
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