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"Now, you will observe that he could not have been on the staff of ohe hospital, since only a man well-established in a London practice could hold such a position, and such a one would not drift into the country. What was he, then? If he was in the hospital and yet not on the staff he could only have been a house-surpeon or a house-physician -- little more than a senior student. And he left five years ago -- the date is on the stick. So your grave, middle-aged family practitioner vanishes into thin air, my dear Watson, and there emerges a young fellow under thirty, amiable, unambitious, absent-minded, and the possessor of a favourite dog, which I should describe roughly as being larger than a terrier and smaller than a mastiff."
I laughed incredulously as Sherlock Holmes leaned back in his settee and blew little wavering rings of smoke up to the ceiling.
"As to the latter part, I have no means of checking you," said I, "but at least it is not difficult to find out a few particulars about the man's age and professional career." From my small medical shelf I took down the Medical Directory and turned up the name. There were several Mortimers, but only one who could be our visitor. I read his record aloud.
"Mortimer, James, M.R.C.S., 1882, Grimpen, Dartmoor, Devon. House-surgeon, from 1882 to 1884, at Charing Cross Hospital. Winner of the Jackson prize for Comparative Pathology, with essay entitled 'Is Disease a Reversion?' Corresponding member of the Swedish Pathological Society. Author of 'Some Freaks of Atavism' (Lancet 1882). 'Do We Progress?' (Journal of Psychology, March, 1883). Medical Officer for the parishes of Grimpen, Thorsley, and High Barrow."
"No mention of that local hunt, Watson," said Holmes with a mischievous smile, "but a country doctor, as you very astutely observed. I think that I am fairly justified in my inferences. As to the adjectives, I said, if I remember right, amiable, unambitious, and absent-minded. It is my experience that it is only an amiable man in this world who receives testimonials, only an unambitious one who abandons a London career for the country, and only an absent-minded one who leaves his stick and not his visiting-card after waiting an hour in your room."
"And the dog?"
"Has been in the habit of carrying this stick behind his master. Being a heavy stick the dog has held it tightly by the middle, and the marks of his teeth are very plainly visible. The dog's jaw, as shown in the space between these marks, is too broad in my opinion for a terrier and not broad enough for a mastiff. It may have been -- yes, by Jove, it is a curly-haired spaniel."
He had risen and paced the room as he spoke. Now he halted in the recess of the window. There was such a ring of conviction in his voice that I glanced up in surprise.
"My dear fellow, how can you possibly be so sure of that?"
"For the very simple reason that I see the dog himself on our very door-step, and there is the ring of its owner. Don't move, I beg you, Watson. He is a professional brother of yours, and your presence may be of assistance to me. Now is the dramatic moment of fate, Watson, when you hear a step upon the stair which is walking into your life, and you know not whether for good or ill. What does Dr. James Mortimer, the man of science, ask of Sherlock Holmes, the specialist in crime? Come in!"
The appearance of our visitor was a surprise to me, since I had expected a typical country practitioner. He was a very tall, thin man, with a long nose like a beak, which jutted out between two keen, gray eyes, set closely together and sparkling brightly from behind a pair of gold-rimmed glasses. He was clad in a professional but rather slovenly fashion, for his frock-coat was dingy and his trousers frayed. Though young, his long back was already bowed, and he walked with a forward thrust of his head and a general air of peering benevolence. As he entered his eyes fell upon the stick in Holmes's hand, and he ran towards it with an exclamation of joy. "I am so very glad," said he. "I was not sure whether I had left it here or in the Shipping Office. I would not lose that stick for the world."
"A presentation, I see," said Holmes.
"Yes, sir."
"From Charing Cross Hospital?"
"From one or two friends there on the occasion of my marriage."
"Dear, dear, that's bad!" said Holmes, shaking his head.
Dr. Mortimer blinked through his glasses in mild astonishment.
"Why was it bad?"
"Only that you have disarranged our little deductions. Your marriage, you say?"
"Yes, sir. I married, and so left the hospital, and with it all hopes of a consulting practice. It was necessary to make a home of my own."
"Come, come, we are not so far wrong, after all," said Holmes. "And now, Dr. James Mortimer --"
"Mister, sir, Mister -- a humble M.R.C.S."
"And a man of precise mind, evidently."
"A dabbler in science, Mr. Holmes, a picker up of shells on the shores of the great unknown ocean. I presume that it is Mr. Sherlock Holmes whom I am addressing and not --"
"No, this is my friend Dr. Watson."
"Now, you will observe that he could not have been on the staff of ohe hospital, since only a man well-established in a London practice could hold such a position, and such a one would not drift into the country. What was he, then? If he was in the hospital and yet not on the staff he could only have been a house-surpeon or a house-physician -- little more than a senior student. And he left five years ago -- the date is on the stick. So your grave, middle-aged family practitioner vanishes into thin air, my dear Watson, and there emerges a young fellow under thirty, amiable, unambitious, absent-minded, and the possessor of a favourite dog, which I should describe roughly as being larger than a terrier and smaller than a mastiff."
I laughed incredulously as Sherlock Holmes leaned back in his settee and blew little wavering rings of smoke up to the ceiling.
"As to the latter part, I have no means of checking you," said I, "but at least it is not difficult to find out a few particulars about the man's age and professional career." From my small medical shelf I took down the Medical Directory and turned up the name. There were several Mortimers, but only one who could be our visitor. I read his record aloud.
"Mortimer, James, M.R.C.S., 1882, Grimpen, Dartmoor, Devon. House-surgeon, from 1882 to 1884, at Charing Cross Hospital. Winner of the Jackson prize for Comparative Pathology, with essay entitled 'Is Disease a Reversion?' Corresponding member of the Swedish Pathological Society. Author of 'Some Freaks of Atavism' (Lancet 1882). 'Do We Progress?' (Journal of Psychology, March, 1883). Medical Officer for the parishes of Grimpen, Thorsley, and High Barrow."
"No mention of that local hunt, Watson," said Holmes with a mischievous smile, "but a country doctor, as you very astutely observed. I think that I am fairly justified in my inferences. As to the adjectives, I said, if I remember right, amiable, unambitious, and absent-minded. It is my experience that it is only an amiable man in this world who receives testimonials, only an unambitious one who abandons a London career for the country, and only an absent-minded one who leaves his stick and not his visiting-card after waiting an hour in your room."
"And the dog?"
"Has been in the habit of carrying this stick behind his master. Being a heavy stick the dog has held it tightly by the middle, and the marks of his teeth are very plainly visible. The dog's jaw, as shown in the space between these marks, is too broad in my opinion for a terrier and not broad enough for a mastiff. It may have been -- yes, by Jove, it is a curly-haired spaniel."
He had risen and paced the room as he spoke. Now he halted in the recess of the window. There was such a ring of conviction in his voice that I glanced up in surprise.
"My dear fellow, how can you possibly be so sure of that?"
"For the very simple reason that I see the dog himself on our very door-step, and there is the ring of its owner. Don't move, I beg you, Watson. He is a professional brother of yours, and your presence may be of assistance to me. Now is the dramatic moment of fate, Watson, when you hear a step upon the stair which is walking into your life, and you know not whether for good or ill. What does Dr. James Mortimer, the man of science, ask of Sherlock Holmes, the specialist in crime? Come in!"
The appearance of our visitor was a surprise to me, since I had expected a typical country practitioner. He was a very tall, thin man, with a long nose like a beak, which jutted out between two keen, gray eyes, set closely together and sparkling brightly from behind a pair of gold-rimmed glasses. He was clad in a professional but rather slovenly fashion, for his frock-coat was dingy and his trousers frayed. Though young, his long back was already bowed, and he walked with a forward thrust of his head and a general air of peering benevolence. As he entered his eyes fell upon the stick in Holmes's hand, and he ran towards it with an exclamation of joy. "I am so very glad," said he. "I was not sure whether I had left it here or in the Shipping Office. I would not lose that stick for the world."
"A presentation, I see," said Holmes.
"Yes, sir."
"From Charing Cross Hospital?"
"From one or two friends there on the occasion of my marriage."
"Dear, dear, that's bad!" said Holmes, shaking his head.
Dr. Mortimer blinked through his glasses in mild astonishment.
"Why was it bad?"
"Only that you have disarranged our little deductions. Your marriage, you say?"
"Yes, sir. I married, and so left the hospital, and with it all hopes of a consulting practice. It was necessary to make a home of my own."
"Come, come, we are not so far wrong, after all," said Holmes. "And now, Dr. James Mortimer --"
"Mister, sir, Mister -- a humble M.R.C.S."
"And a man of precise mind, evidently."
"A dabbler in science, Mr. Holmes, a picker up of shells on the shores of the great unknown ocean. I presume that it is Mr. Sherlock Holmes whom I am addressing and not --"
"No, this is my friend Dr. Watson."
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Śmiałem się z niedowierzaniem, jak Sherlock Holmes oparł się na kanapie i dmuchnął małe wahania pierścienie dymu do sufitu.
"Co do drugiej części, to nie mają możliwości sprawdzenia cię", rzekłem, "ale przynajmniej nie jest to trudne, aby dowiedzieć się kilku szczegółów na temat życia mężczyzny i kariery zawodowej." Z mojej małej półce medycznej wziąłem dół katalog medyczny i odwrócił się nazwę. Było kilka Mortimers, ale jedynym, który mógł być naszym gościem. Czytałem jego rekord na głos.
"Mortimer, James, MRCS, 1882, Grimpen, Dartmoor, Devon. Dom-chirurg, 1882/84, przy Charing Cross Hospital. Laureat nagrody Jackson Porównawczego Patologii, w eseju zatytułowanym" Czy choroba Odwrócenie? Członkiem korespondentem Towarzystwa Patologicznej szwedzkiego. Autor "niektóre" Freaks z atawizm 1882) (Lancet ". Czy My Progress? (Journal of Psychology, marzec, 1883). Medical Officer w parafiach Grimpen, Thorsley i Wysokiego Barrow. "
"Nie wspominając o tym, Watson lokalnego polowanie", powiedział Holmes z figlarnym uśmiechem ", ale lekarz kraju, jak bardzo wnikliwie obserwuje. Myślę, że jestem dość uzasadnione w moich wnioskowań. Co do przymiotników, powiedziałem, jeśli Pamiętam dobrze, sympatyczny, ambicji i roztargniony. To jest moje doświadczenie, że tylko człowiek sympatyczny, w tym świecie, który otrzymuje referencje, jedynie ambicji jednego który porzuca karierę w Londynie dla kraju, a tylko roztargniony kto opuszcza swój kij i nie jego wizytówką po odczekaniu godzinę w swoim pokoju. "
"A pies?"
"Czy było w zwyczaju prowadzenia tego kija za swego mistrza. Jest ciężki kij pies trzymał go mocno w połowie, a ślady jego zębów są bardzo wyraźnie widoczne. Szczęki psa, jak pokazano w przestrzeni pomiędzy nimi znaki, jest zbyt szeroki, moim zdaniem na terrier i nie wystarczająco szerokie dla mastifa Może to było. - tak, na Jowisza, to kędzierzawy spaniel ".
On zmartwychwstał i przechadzał się po pokoju, jak mówił. Teraz zatrzymany w wybraniu okna. Był taki pierścień przekonaniem w głosie, że spojrzał zdziwiony.
"Mój drogi, jak możesz być tak pewna?"
"Dla bardzo prostej przyczyny, że widzę psa samego na naszej samym drzwi kroku, a tam jest pierścień jego właściciela. Nie ruszaj się, błagam cię, Watson. Jest profesjonalnym twój brat, a twoja obecność mogą być pomocne dla mnie. Teraz jest dramatyczny moment losu, Watsona, gdy słyszysz o krok od schodów, które idzie do swojego życia, a nie wiesz, czy na dobre czy na złe. Co dr James Mortimer, człowiek nauki, poproś Sherlocka Holmesa, specjalisty w zbrodni? Przyjdź! "
Wygląd naszego gościa było dla mnie zaskoczeniem, ponieważ spodziewałem się typowy lekarza kraju. Był bardzo wysoki, szczupły mężczyzna, z długim nosem jak dziób, który sterczy między dwoma Keen, szare oczy, ustawione blisko siebie i musujące jasno zza okulary w złotej oprawie. Ubrany był w profesjonalny sposób, ale raczej niechlujnie, na jego surdut był obskurny i jego spodnie postrzępione. Choć młody, jego długie powrotem już skłonił się i szedł z przodu ciąg głowy i ogólne powietrza zaglądając życzliwość. Gdy wszedł jego wzrok padł na kij w ręku Holmesa, a on podbiegł do niego z okrzykiem radości. "Jestem tak bardzo zadowolony", powiedział on. "Nie byłem pewien, czy zostawiłem go tutaj lub w Urzędzie wysyłka. Nie chciałbym stracić tego kija dla świata."
"Prezentacja, widzę," powiedział Holmes.
"Tak jest."
"Od szpitala Charing Cross?"
"Od jednego lub dwóch przyjaciół tam z okazji mojego małżeństwa."
"Kochany, kochany, to źle!" powiedział Holmes, potrząsając głową.
Doktor Mortimer zamrugał przez okulary w łagodnym zdziwieniem.
"Dlaczego jest źle?"
"Tylko, że nasze małe potrąceń disarranged. Twoje małżeństwo, mówisz?"
"Tak, proszę pana. Wyszłam za mąż, i tak opuścił szpital, a wraz z nim wszystkie nadzieje na praktyce konsultingowej. Trzeba było zrobić mój własny dom."
"Chodź, chodź, nie jesteśmy tak daleko źle, mimo wszystko," powiedział Holmes. "A teraz, dr James Mortimer -"
"Proszę pana, proszę pana, panie - pokorna M.R.C.S."
"A człowiek precyzyjnego umysłu, najwyraźniej."
". Amator w dziedzinie nauki, panie Holmes, kompletacji się z muszli na brzegu wielkiego nieznanego oceanu Zakładam, że jest pan Sherlock Holmes którego Zwracam a nie -"
"Nie, to jest mój przyjaciel dr Watson."