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 The Adventure of the Dying Detective
 Mrs. Hudson, the landlady of Sherlock Holmes, was a long-suffering woman. Not only was her first-floor flat invaded
 at all hours by throngs of singular and often undesirable characters but her remarkable lodger showed an eccentricity
 and irregularity in his life which must have sorely tried her patience. His incredible untidiness, his addiction to music
 at strange hours, his occasional revolver practice within doors, his weird and often malodorous scientific experiments,
 and the atmosphere of violence and danger which hung around him made him the very worst tenant in London.
 His Last Bow
 It was nine o'clock at night upon the second of August--the most terrible August in the history of the world. One might
 have thought already that God's curse hung heavy over a degenerate world, for there was an awesome hush and a feeling
 of vague expectancy in the sultry and stagnant air. The sun had long set, but one blood-red gash like an open wound lay
 low in the distant west. Above, the stars were shining brightly, and below, the lights of the shipping glimmered in the bay.
 The Sign of the Four
 Sherlock Holmes took his bottle from the corner of the mantel-piece and his hypodermic syringe from its neat morocco case.
 With his long, white, nervous fingers he adjusted the delicate needle, and rolled back his left shirt-cuff. For some little time
 his eyes rested thoughtfully upon the sinewy forearm and wrist all dotted and scarred with innumerable puncture-marks.
 Finally he thrust the sharp point home, pressed down the tiny piston, and sank back into the velvet-lined arm-chair with a
 long sigh of satisfaction.
 The Valley of Fear
 "I am inclined to think—" said I.
 "I should do so," Sherlock Holmes remarked impatiently.
 I believe that I am one of the most long-suffering of mortals; but I'll admit that I was annoyed at the sardonic interruption.
 "Really, Holmes," said I severely, "you are a little trying at times."
 He was too much absorbed with his own thoughts to give any immediate answer to my remonstrance. He leaned upon his hand,
 with his untasted breakfast before him, and he stared at the slip of paper which he had just drawn from its envelope. Then he
 took the envelope itself, held it up to the light, and very carefully studied both the exterior and the flap.

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