Chapter 4 — IV.<br/>THE BOSCOMBE VALLEY MYSTERY

We were seated at
breakfast one morning, my wife and I, when the maid brought in a telegram. It
was from Sherlock Holmes and ran in this way:

“Have you a couple of days to spare? Have just been wired for from the
west of England in connection with Boscombe Valley tragedy. Shall be glad if
you will come with me. Air and scenery perfect. Leave Paddington by the
11:15.”

“What do you say, dear?” said my wife, looking across at me.
“Will you go?”

“I really don’t know what to say. I have a fairly long list at
present.”

“Oh, Anstruther would do your work for you. You have been looking a
little pale lately. I think that the change would do you good, and you are
always so interested in Mr. Sherlock Holmes’ cases.”

“I should be ungrateful if I were not, seeing what I gained through one
of them,” I answered. “But if I am to go, I must pack at once, for
I have only half an hour.”

My experience of camp life in Afghanistan had at least had the effect of making
me a prompt and ready traveller. My wants were few and simple, so that in less
than the time stated I was in a cab with my valise, rattling away to Paddington
Station. Sherlock Holmes was pacing up and down the platform, his tall, gaunt
figure made even gaunter and taller by his long grey travelling-cloak and
close-fitting cloth cap.

“It is really very good of you to come, Watson,” said he. “It
makes a considerable difference to me, having someone with me on whom I can
thoroughly rely. Local aid is always either worthless or else biassed. If you
will keep the two corner seats I shall get the tickets.”

We had the carriage to ourselves save for an immense litter of papers which
Holmes had brought with him. Among these he rummaged and read, with intervals
of note-taking and of meditation, until we were past Reading. Then he suddenly
rolled them all into a gigantic ball and tossed them up onto the rack.

“Have you heard anything of the case?” he asked.

“Not a word. I have not seen a paper for some days.”

“The London press has not had very full accounts. I have just been
looking through all the recent papers in order to master the particulars. It
seems, from what I gather, to be one of those simple cases which are so
extremely difficult.”

“That sounds a little paradoxical.”

“But it is profoundly true. Singularity is almost invariably a clue. The
more featureless and commonplace a crime is, the more difficult it is to bring
it home. In this case, however, they have established a very serious case
against the son of the murdered man.”