“And yet I am not convinced of it，” I answered. “The caseswhich come to light in the papers are， as a rule， bald enough， andvulgar enough. We have in our police reports realism pushed to itsextreme limits， and yet the result is， it must be confessed， neitherfascinating nor artistic.”
“A certain selection and discretion must be used in producing arealistic effect，” remarked Holmes. “This is wanting in the policereport， where more stress is laid， perhaps， upon the platitudes ofthe magistrate than upon the details， which to an observer containthe vital essence of the whole matter. Depend upon it， there isnothing so unnatural as the commonplace.”
I smiled and shook my head. “I can quite understand yourthinking so.” I said. “Of course， in your position of unofficialadviser and helper to everybody who is absolutely puzzled，throughout three continents， you are brought in contact with allthat is strange and bizarre. But here” —I picked up the morningpaper from the ground— “let us put it to a practical test. Hereis the first heading upon which I come. ‘A husband’s cruelty tohis wife.’ There is half a column of print， but I know withoutreading it that it is all perfectly familiar to me. There is， of course，the other woman， the drink， the push， the blow， the bruise， thesympathetic sister or landlady. The crudest of writers could inventnothing more crude.”
“Indeed， your example is an unfortunate one for yourargument，” said Holmes， taking the paper and glancing his eyedown it. “This is the Dundas separation case， and， as it happens， Iwas engaged in clearing up some small points in connection withit. The husband was a teetotaler， there was no other woman， andthe conduct complained of was that he had drifted into the habitof winding up every meal by taking out his false teeth and hurlingthem at his wife， which， you will allow， is not an action likely tooccur to the imagination of the average story-teller. Take a pinchof snuff， Doctor， and acknowledge that I have scored over you inyour example.”
He held out his snuffbox of old gold， with a great amethyst inthe centre of the lid. Its splendour was in such contrast to hishomely ways and simple life that I could not help commentingupon it.
“Ah，” said he， “I forgot that I had not seen you for some weeks.
It is a little souvenir from the King of Bohemia in return for myassistance in the case of the Irene Adler papers.”
“And the ring？” I asked， glancing at a remarkable brilliant whichsparkled upon his finger.
“It was from the reigning family of Holland， though the matterin which I served them was of such delicacy that I cannot confideit even to you， who have been good enough to chronicle one ortwo of my little problems.”
“And have you any on hand just now？” I asked with interest.
“Some ten or twelve， but none which present any feature ofinterest. They are important， you understand， without beinginteresting. Indeed， I have found that it is usually in unimportantmatters that there is a field for the observation， and for thequick analysis of cause and effect which gives the charm to aninvestigation. The larger crimes are apt to be the simpler， for thebigger the crime the more obvious， as a rule， is the motive. Inthese cases， save for one rather intricate matter which has beenreferred to me from Marseilles， there is nothing which presentsany features of interest. It is possible， however， that I may havesomething better before very many minutes are over， for this isone of my clients， or I am much mistaken.”
He had risen from his chair and was standing between theparted blinds gazing down into the dull neutral-tinted Londonstreet. Looking over his shoulder， I saw that on the pavementopposite there stood a large woman with a heavy fur boa roundher neck， and a large curling red feather in a broad-brimmed hatwhich was tilted in a coquettish Duchess of Devonshire fashionover her ear. From under this great panoply she peeped up ina nervous， hesitating fashion at our windows， while her bodyoscillated backward and forward， and her fingers fidgeted with herglove buttons. Suddenly， with a plunge， as of the swimmer wholeaves the bank， she hurried across the road， and we heard thesharp clang of the bell.
“I have seen those symptoms before，” said Holmes， throwinghis cigarette into the fire. “Oscillation upon the pavement alwaysmeans an affaire de coeur. She would like advice， but is not surethat the matter is not too delicate for communication. And yeteven here we may discriminate. When a woman has been seriouslywronged by a man she no longer oscillates， and the usual symptomis a broken bell wire. Here we may take it that there is a lovematter， but that the maiden is not so much angry as perplexed， orgrieved. But here she comes in person to resolve our doubts.”
As he spoke there was a tap at the door， and the boy in buttonsentered to announce Miss Mary Sutherland， while the lady herselfloomed behind his small black figure like a full-sailed merchantmanbehind a tiny pilot boat. Sherlock Holmes welcomed her withthe easy courtesy for which he was remarkable， and， having closedthe door and bowed her into an armchair， he looked her over inthe minute and yet abstracted fashion which was peculiar to him.
“Do you not find，” he said， “that with your short sight it is alittle trying to do so much typewriting？”
“I did at first，” she answered， “but now I know where the lettersare without looking.” Then， suddenly realising the full purport ofhis words， she gave a violent start and looked up， with fear andastonishment upon her broad， good-humoured face. “You’ve heardabout me， Mr. Holmes，” she cried， “else how could you know allthat？”
“Never mind，” said Holmes， laughing； “it is my business to knowthings. Perhaps I have trained myself to see what others overlook.
If not， why should you come to consult me？”
