The Adventure of Black Peter

I have never known my friend to be in better form, both mental
and physical, than in the year '95. His increasing fame had
brought with it an immense practice, and I should be guilty of
an indiscretion if I were even to hint at the identity of some
of the illustrious clients who crossed our humble threshold in
Baker Street. Holmes, however, like all great artists, lived for
his art's sake, and, save in the case of the Duke of
Holdernesse, I have seldom known him claim any large reward for
his inestimable services. So unworldly was he--or so capricious--
that he frequently refused his help to the powerful and wealthy
where the problem made no appeal to his sympathies, while he
would devote weeks of most intense application to the affairs of
some humble client whose case presented those strange and
dramatic qualities which appealed to his imagination and
challenged his ingenuity.

In this memorable year '95, a curious and incongruous succession
of cases had engaged his attention, ranging from his famous
investigation of the sudden death of Cardinal Tosca--an inquiry
which was carried out by him at the express desire of His
Holiness the Pope--down to his arrest of Wilson, the notorious
canary-trainer, which removed a plague-spot from the East End of
London. Close on the heels of these two famous cases came the
tragedy of Woodman's Lee, and the very obscure circumstances
which surrounded the death of Captain Peter Carey. No record of
the doings of Mr. Sherlock Holmes would be complete which did
not include some account of this very unusual affair.

During the first week of July, my friend had been absent so
often and so long from our lodgings that I knew he had something
on hand. The fact that several rough-looking men called during
that time and inquired for Captain Basil made me understand that
Holmes was working somewhere under one of the numerous disguises
and names with which he concealed his own formidable identity.
He had at least five small refuges in different parts of London,
in which he was able to change his personality. He said nothing
of his business to me, and it was not my habit to force a
confidence. The first positive sign which he gave me of the
direction which his investigation was taking was an
extraordinary one. He had gone out before breakfast, and I had
sat down to mine when he strode into the room, his hat upon his
head and a huge barbed-headed spear tucked like an umbrella
under his arm.

"Good gracious, Holmes!" I cried. "You don't mean to say that
you have been walking about London with that thing?"

"I drove to the butcher's and back."

"The butcher's?"

"And I return with an excellent appetite. There can be no
question, my