A Study in Scarlet - Part 01

This is the first story

of Sherlock Holmes

written on a book,

in which he meets his

faithful friend Watson,

the narrator.

They both are looking

for a place to live and

end up living together

on Baker Street.

Watson is introduced

to Holmes by his friend

Stamford while Holmes

works in a chemical

laboratory.

---- By Arthur Conan Doyle (In Public Domain) ----

This was a lofty chamber,

lined and littered with

countless bottles,

low tables scattered about,

test tubes and little Bunsen

lamps with their blue

flickering flames.

There was only one student

in the room, who was

bending over a distant

table absorbed in

his work.

At the sound of our steps,

he glanced round and

sprang to his feet with

a cry of pleasure.

"I've found it! I've found it".

He shouted to my

companion, running

towards us with a

test tube in his hand.

"I have found a reagent

which is precipitated by

hemoglobin, and by

nothing else".

If he had discovered

a gold mine, greater

delight could not have

shone upon his features.

"Dr. Watson, Mr. Sherlock

Holmes", said Stamford,

introducing us.

"How are you?"

he said cordially, gripping

my hand with a strength

for which I should hardly

have given him credit.

"You have been in

Afghanistan, I perceive".

"How on earth did

you know that?"

I asked in astonishment.

"Never mind",

said he, chuckling

to himself.

"The question now is

about hemoglobin.

No doubt you see

the significance of

this discovery of mine?"

"It is interesting,

chemically, no doubt",

I answered, "but practically".

"Why, man, it is the most

practical medico legal

discovery for years.

Don't you see that it

gives us an infallible

test for blood stains.

Come over here now!"

He seized me by

the coat sleeve in

his eagerness, and

drew me over to the

table at which he

had been working.

"Let us have some

fresh blood,"

he said, digging a long

bodkin into his finger,

and drawing off the

resulting drop of blood

in a chemical pipette.

"Now, I add this small

quantity of blood to a

liter of water.

You perceive that

the resulting mixture

has the appearance

of pure water.

The proportion of blood

cannot be more than

one in a million.

I have no doubt,

however, that we

shall be able

to obtain the

characteristic

reaction."

As he spoke,

he threw into

the vessel a few

white crystals,

and then added

some drops of a

transparent fluid.

In an instant the

contents assumed

a dull mahogany color,

and a brownish dust

was precipitated to

the bottom of the glass jar.

"Ha! ha!" he cried,

clapping his hands,

and looking as delighted

as a child with a new toy.

"What do you think of that?"

"It seems to be a very

delicate test",

I remarked.

"Beautiful! Beautiful!

The old Guaiacum test was

very clumsy and uncertain.

So is the microscopic

examination for blood

corpuscles.

The latter is valueless

if the stains are a few

hours old.

Now, this appears to act

as well whether the blood

is old or new.

Had this test been

invented, there are

hundreds of men now

walking the earth who

would long ago have paid

the penalty of their crimes."

"Indeed!" I murmured.

"Criminal cases are

continually hinging

upon that one point.

A man is suspected of

a crime month 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?

That is a question which

has puzzled many an

expert, and why?

Because there was

no reliable test.

Now we have the

Sherlock Holmes test,

and there will no longer

be any difficulty."

His eyes fairly glittered

as he spoke, and he put

his hand over his heart

and bowed as if to some

applauding crowd conjured

up by his imagination.

"You are to be

congratulated,"

I remarked,

considerably surprised

at his enthusiasm.

"There was the case of

Von Bischoff at Frankfort

last year.

He would certainly

have been hung had

this test been in existence.

Then there was Mason of

Bradford, and the notorious

Muller, and Lefevre of

Montpellier, and Samson

of New Orleans.

I could name a score of

cases in which it would

have been decisive".

"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 Sherlock Holmes,

sticking a small piece of

plaster over the prick

on his finger.

"I have to be careful",

he continued, turning

to me with a smile,

"for I dabble with

poisons a good deal".

He held out his hand as

he spoke, and I noticed

that it was all mottled

over with similar pieces

of plaster, and discolored

with strong acids.

"We came here on business",

said Stamford, sitting down

on a high three legged stool,

and pushing another one in

my direction with his foot.

"My friend here wants

to take diggings, and

as you were complaining

that you could get no one

to go halves with you,

I thought that I had better

bring you together".

Sherlock Holmes seemed

delighted at the idea of

sharing his rooms with me.

"I have my eye on a suite

in Baker Street",

he said, "which would

suit us down to the

ground. You don't mind

the smell of strong

tobacco, I hope?"

"I always smoke

ships myself",

I answered.

"That's good enough.

I generally have chemicals

about, and occasionally do

experiments. Would that

annoy you?"

"By no means".

"Let me see, what are

my other shortcomings.

I get in the dumps at times,

and don’t open my mouth

for days on end.

You must not think I am

sulky when I do that.

Just let me alone, and

I'll soon be right.

What have you to

confess now?

It's just as well for

two fellows to know

the worst of one another

before they begin to

live together."

I laughed at this

cross examination.

"I keep a bull pup", I said,

"and I object to rows because

my nerves are shaken, and

I get up at all sorts of

ungodly hours, and

I am extremely lazy.

I have another set of vices

when I'm well, but those are

the principal ones at present".

"Do you include violin playing

in your category of rows?"

He asked, anxiously.

"It depends on the player",

I answered.

"A well played violin is

a treat for the gods".

"Oh, that's all right",

he cried, with a merry laugh.

"I think we may consider the

thing as settled, that is, if the

rooms are agreeable to you".

"When shall we see them?"

"Call for me here at noon

tomorrow, and we'll go

together and settle

everything",

he answered.

"All right, noon exactly",

said I, shaking his hand.

We left him working

among his chemicals,

and we walked together

towards my hotel.

"By the way!"

I asked suddenly, stopping

and turning upon Stamford,

"How the deuce did he

know that I had come

from Afghanistan?"

My companion smiled

an enigmatical smile.

"That's just his

little peculiarity",

he said. "A good many

people have wanted to

know how he finds

things out".

"Oh! a mystery, is it?"

I cried, rubbing my hands.

"This is very piquant.

I am much obliged to you

for bringing us together.

The proper study of mankind

is man, you know".

"You must study him, then",

Stamford said, as he

bade me good bye.

"You'll find him a

knotty problem, though.

I'll wager he learns more

about you than you about

him. Good bye."

"Good bye",

I answered, and strolled on

to my hotel, considerably

interested in my

new acquaintance.